


Reaching for Joy

by evieplease



Series: Reaching for Joy [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 80's musical films, Dancing in the Rain, F/M, Filming, Loki and Thor - Freeform, Porn With Plot, References to Jane Austen, Tea, fling while filming, large family, mindfulness, old lady wisdom, senior caregiver, small town, tiny woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: Tom is filming in Pix’s little town. They make an unexpected connection, with unexpected consequences.Sorry I'm not better at summaries, I never know what to say without giving the whole thing away!
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Reaching for Joy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725499
Comments: 66
Kudos: 55





	1. Be Here Now

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally wrote this as a one shot years ago, but it has evolved into a whole story giving Pix and Tom an origin story. There will also be a second work anon. So, have a new story, and sorry about all my 101 other WIP’s!

Be Here Now

I stood next to Tom Hiddleston on a cold, grey, misty evening in my little-bit town. He was here filming. I'm sure there were other actors, crew, extras, and et cetera. But for me, that moment, there was only Tom. A frozen, timeless tableau, a photograph in my memory. 

I’d been in the little pub in the centre of town, dark heavy beams overhead in the low ceiling, not far above Tom's head. Standing at the bar, I was chatting to Jamie, my best friend and barman, while he poured my Guinness, asking after his family. He was laughing as he described the antics of his four year old nephew, Trevor. 

Jamie was a man after my own heart. Unfortunately we were too much alike to ever make a go of it. The thing is, I like men. And so does Jamie. Sigh. So he's my best mate instead.

The warm, earthy smell of Guinness rose from the glass he had tilted under the tap as he laughingly told me that Trevor had called him a wanker for not going outside that very minute to see him ride his new bicycle.

"Little tyke's first swear!" Jamie said proudly.

Chuckling, I felt a draught of cold air brush against the back of my neck, and heard the heavy door thud closed over the quiet voices of tonight's pub patrons. Glancing over my shoulder my laugh died, strangled as I looked straight into a pair of lightning blue eyes. 

Oh, god. What the hell is he doing here, of all places?! Why hadn't he gone a few towns over to the much larger, more anonymous town? For fuck's sake, it was Stratford-upon-fucking-Avon! You'd think that's where a famed Shakespearean actor would gravitate, wouldn't you? 

But no. Here he is. In my village. In my pub. Staring into my eyes from across the room. Fuck. All the noise of the room disappeared, vanished into a vacuum along with my breath, my lungs frozen.

Suddenly, I could hear only the loud thump of my heart for the space of two heartbeats. Lub-dub... Lub-dub...echoing in my chest, and in my head. I wrenched my gaze away from his, sliding my eyes around the room as time resumed. My lungs labored into motion again, the rush of oxygen to my brain making my head spin almost as much as the recent momentary lack of oxygen.

Shaking my head lightly, I turned back to the bar as Jamie set my Guinness down with a thump in front of me. I picked it up and took a healthy draught.

"Cheers, Jamie," I said, licking the foam off my short upper lip. I risked another glance over my shoulder. A blonde man a bit shorter than he had stepped through the door and stood next to him, surveying the room.

Tom tilted his head down and spoke, gesturing toward an empty table on the leftward, quieter side of the room, and they moved together toward the table.

Good enough. They obviously wanted a bit of privacy to chat. I turned my gaze away resolutely, and had another drink from my glass.

"Evening, dear." I glanced to my right, only then realizing that old Mrs. Whitaker had stepped up to the bar beside me. Somehow I can’t stop thinking of her as Mrs. Whitaker, though she insists I call her Julia.

"Evening, Julia. What brings you here? You know I'd have brought your sherry over to you as always." I chided her gently.

"Well dear, I did try to catch your attention, but it seems you were focused elsewhere..." Her eyes slid over to the left side of the room and back to my face with a small smile.

Jamie interrupted us to ask for my mobile. As I dug it out of my pocket I laughed lightly and mildly scolded her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're entirely too observant, Julia?"

She chuckled at me, her faded blue eyes twinkling up at me from a mass of smile wrinkles and snow white, fluffy hair.

"Not since my daughters moved away, dear," she said ruefully. "So, who is that young man who made you forget how to breathe? He's very pretty, isn't he?" She glanced around me at the table occupied by sex on two (very long) legs.

"You could tell that I stopped breathing? Julia, you need a new hobby!"

"Yes, dear. Now answer my questions, if you please."

"He's nothing to do with me! He's a film star here with the film crew that's been tearing up the High Street. And yes, he is pretty." I smiled at her.

She glanced over again and a sly smile crept over her lips.

"Perhaps you would introduce me then, dear?"

"I can hardly introduce you! I don't even know him! I only know of him."

"And where do you know 'of' him, dear?"

I chewed my lip, not willing to lie to her, but not entirely sure I wanted to explain tumblr, or run the chance of setting this mischief maker loose in the tumblr community. But from the sparkle in those blue eyes, I thought maybe introduction to tumblr might be superfluous. Her eyes darted to my other side again.

"Perhaps now would be the time for that introduction, dear?" she murmured lowly.

I stiffened and glanced up at Jamie over the bar. He was fiddling with my phone and grinning. My glance moved further to my left, and I became aware of the tall, warm body beside me. My gaze tracked upward, so far upward, to find him staring down at me, his eyes crinkled and a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes traced over my face, noting my short, spiky, disarranged dark hair and my multiple ear piercings with the complicated knot work ear wire that one of my sisters had made for me.

Well, crap. I huffed under my breath as I realised Mrs. Whitaker had neatly trapped me. I took a breath and straightened my shoulders. What the hell, right? Taking a step back from between them, I cleared my throat lightly and unearthed my best Miss Jane Austen.

"Mr. Tom Hiddleston, may I present Mrs. Julia Whitaker? Tom, Mrs. Whitaker is our village mischief maker." He smiled down charmingly at her and took the small weathered hand she held out to him. "Julia, Tom is an actor of some renown."

I moved another step back, relieved that I'd managed to uphold Miss Austen's standards of introduction, curious to see the interaction between the two. I wondered if I had just introduced Trouble to Troublesome.

He twinkled down at her, his lovely smile breaking over his face, again stopping my breath. I glanced at Mrs. Whitaker, sparkling up at him, and knew immediately that if there hadn't been 50 years separating them, she'd have had him at her feet in a trice.

Was he really going to...? Yes, he was. He stood tall, lifted her hand and bowed over it, turning her hand and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Whitaker." he murmured. I was astounded to hear a girlish laugh from her.

"Yes indeed, young man." She glanced at me, all her mischief to the fore. "And have you met our young Pix, here? She's the granddaughter of my best friend from finishing school."

Both sets of eyes swiveled in my direction, faded, twinkling blue and hot, searing blue, pinning me to the spot. I could feel the pink creeping across my face. This is so not me. I do not blush! I drew in a deep breath as unobtrusively as possible, and extended my hand to meet his. He took it, utterly engulfing it with his large palm, smiling down at me, covering our clasped hands with his other. I was relieved that he didn't try to kiss my hand as he'd done Mrs. Whitaker's. No, really.

He opened his mouth to say something when Jamie interrupted.

"Mrs. Whitaker, wouldn't you like a photograph of you and the film star to send to your granddaughters? Would you mind, Mr. Hiddleston?"

I watched his face fall slightly, before he put on a practiced, professional smile.

"Of course not. And please, call me Tom!"

He let go my hand and wrapped a long arm over tiny Mrs. Whitakers shoulder as they smiled and posed together. After Jamie snapped several photos, Tom thanked Mrs. Whitaker, and then turned back to me.

"Shall we, darling?" he gestured at Jamie holding my mobile as he reached for my shoulder to recreate the pose he'd done with Mrs. Whitaker. He was already looking into the lens with that practiced smile.

"Tom?" I asked, unable to believe I was going to be so forward. But, oh my goodness this man needed to get a little zen...

"Yes?" he glanced at me before turning his attention back to the camera lens.

"Tom." I waited until he turned and looked at me. "I'm sure that if I need a photograph there ought to be one or two on the Internet."

His eyebrows shot up as I smiled wryly at him. He nodded cautiously, creases appearing between his eyebrows. At least I could see that he wasn't offended, only intrigued.

"May I have a small moment of your time instead?" I asked. The cords in his neck were so tense and his shoulders so rigid. He was so tightly wound that I thought he might shatter.

His gaze flicked up at the mobile that Jamie was lowering, then over at his companion, and then back to me.

"Certainly, darling," he said with a cautious, curious lilt.

I lifted my hand, my silver bracelets chiming on my wrist, and took a step toward him so that we faced each other.

"May I?" I murmured, my hand hovering a few inches from his chest.

He paused, sensing that this was different to his usual fan encounter, searching my calm, solemn face for a clue. I think that photos with fans had become such a routine for him, and that fans just took for granted that they could touch him freely, that they were just blurred faces in a crowd. I was deliberately pulling him out of that mindset, and I'm sure he was a little uncomfortable. After a brief moment of searching my face, he nodded.

I set my hand gently over his heart, feeling the thump under my palm. I bent my head and closed my eyes.

"Breathe. Just breathe." I said in a low voice. He went utterly still beneath my hand as I stood tranquil, absorbing his undistracted presence, slowly breathing in his scent and simply sharing this moment in time with him. His hand crept up and covered mine.

I slowly breathed in and out, forming a rhythm, and I saw that Tom was matching my pace, in synch with me. Breathing in clean, slightly cool air, then expelling his dark stress and tension with each exhalation.

I could feel him relax. His heartbeat slowed and for a second I was reminded of that Dirty Dancing scene where they danced to a heartbeat. 

Where had that thought come from?

I stepped back and looked up at him, lifting my hand from his chest. He squeezed it briefly. He took a deep breath and looked down into my eyes, something lurking there...

"Thank you, Pix. Sometimes I forget..." he murmured.

"Thank you as well, Tom." I grinned at him. "Now, I’ll let you get back to your friend. Enjoy your evening." I picked up my glass and walked away toward Mrs. Whitaker. I saw she was looking over my shoulder before she switched her gaze to me. She beckoned me. I leaned down close to her.

"Hook, line, and sinker, dear." She smiled conspiratorially at me.

"Don't be ridiculous Mrs. Whitaker! Julia. That was just a moment, not a play for him!"

"If you say so, dear." She smirked at me. I huffed in exasperation.

Just then the pub door opened and in waltzed Serena Whitaker-Jones in all her hoity-toity hyphenated glory, peering around disdainfully, obviously looking for her mother. From her expensively coiffed hair to her thousand quid shoes, she’s a pretentious snob. Serena treats me as an unskilled servant, rather than the skilled and experienced home help aide who cares for the mother that she usually can’t be bothered with. 

I don’t see how Julia can stand her, but there’s no accounting for a mother’s love, I suppose. We had long since come to agreement that it was best that, since her daughter and I invariably got up each other’s noses, I would make myself scarce when Serena comes around.

"See you tomorrow morning, Julia," I jerked a slightly irritated nod and strolled over to the bar, finishing the last swallow and leaving my glass, heading out the back door, with a last glance over my shoulder to see Serena’s superior sneer. That woman could do with a kick in the pants from Lady Karma.

Speaking of Karma, I stole a last look at Tom to find him following my progress to the door, a faint look of regret on his face as his blonde friend made some point to him. 

I shoved the door open on the night air.


	2. Trust

I sat outside on the deserted back patio, leaning into the shadows at the back of the pub, my dark, jeans-clad legs extended, red boots propped on the railing. The late night was misty and cool, quiet, the back lane in front of me was deserted, no one at all about, the only sounds the muted conversations and laughter of the bar patrons muffled behind the thick door. I sighed, slumping into my chair, not ready to go home yet, but unwilling to stay in the noise and lights of the bar. Unwilling to give Serena a chance to harass me again for being the person her mother would rather spend time with. 

I pulled a joint and a lighter out of my leather jacket. I lit it, taking a deep hit and holding it as I let my mind go blank, tried to let my brain stop running in its hamster wheel for a few precious minutes....

Except it didn't, wouldn't. My thoughts kept spinning, whirling so fast I couldn't grasp one long enough to figure out what it was. Idly, I twisted my bracelets around and around my wrist as I contemplated.

My sister Linnie had made my inspirational bracelets of silver and love, crafting fine flowers and leaves twining around the bands. Each one had a message of meaning for me. I often wore them in pairs or groups, the chiming of them clashing together as my arm moved reminding me to be heedful.

Today’s bracelets were Be Here Now, Trust, and Comfort~Healing~Peace. Some mornings I carefully selected my bracelets, and other mornings I just seized a few randomly and put them on as I hurried out the door. Today had been a random day.

I could still feel the phantom weight of Tom’s unhappiness, And Serena’s ugly vibe poisoning my emotions. I huffed out the smoke in irritation. This will never do. So I did what I always do when I can’t get shut of the unhappy emotions of others.

I fetched out my iPod and my earbuds and selected my Dirty Dancing playlist. I shoved a couple of chairs and tables to the perimeter of the patio, clearing a space, and began to dance to the music pouring from my earbuds. After a moment I closed my eyes and the music took me. 

I was grinding out the last few measures of Big Girls Don’t Cry when there was a brief flash of light across my closed eyelids, signifying that the back door had been opened and closed. I ignored it. Jamie often comes out to join me on his break, maybe dance a little. ‘Do You Love Me’ came through my earbuds next and I let the beat push me into a rock step.

I felt Jamie's hand catch mine, and throw me into a spin, and then another. It wasn't until a hand settled on my hip that I opened my eyes, realizing that it wasn't Jamie at all. It was Tom pushing me through a series of half turns, spins and full turns. I caught glimpses of his face as he moved my body around his. His face was intent. Concentrated. Watching me. I closed my eyes. I needed to keep my head in the dance, and I always dance better if I can keep my eyes closed and trust my partner.

I have no idea why I trusted Tom that way, from the first moment. He just inspired me, I guess. He could have knocked me into the railing, tangled my feet, dropped me on my ass, and yet... there was never any question that he would allow that to happen.

The song came to an end and I pulled my ear buds from my ears, only then fully realizing that he'd expertly led me through a spinning dance without being able to hear the music at all!

I stood back from him, my heart rate and breath running fast, and wiped my forehead. He reached over and smoothed away the drop of perspiration that ran past my ear. 

"That was fun!" I panted and laughed. "Imagine what you could do with music!"

He smiled brilliantly at me, his breath fast, as exhilarated as I.

“Thank you for the dance, Pix.” 

“You’re very welcome!” I smiled.

“Um, what was that back there?” He tilted his head at the bar door, looking curiously at me. I shrugged.

“I just pushed the pause button for you. You looked like you were pretty tense. I hope you don’t mind, now you’ve had a chance to think about it?”

“No, not at all. Thanks for... I don’t know..?”

“Sure. Everybody needs a little grounding every now and then.” I smiled up at him.

His hands held mine and he leaned in and kissed my forehead. I blinked at him in surprise.

Tom abruptly released my hands stepped back.

“Good night, Pix. It was lovely to meet you.” He spoke wistfully, turned and pulled the heavy door open and walked into the light, sparing me one last slightly puzzled glance over his shoulder.

I sighed. What a very… strange? interesting? encounter. I wondered what his deal was, but I didn't expect I'd ever find out. He probably thought I was some sort of kook, or witchy person, and he wouldn’t be the first, but my ‘powers’ were no more magical than yoga, meditation, and the occasional flash of intuition. And a determination to choose my own path and encourage my fellow travelers to find their own kind of bliss.

Cooled off now in the chilly night mist, I shrugged back into my jacket and set off home, meandering through the quiet village streets. 

I kicked a stone along in front of me as I walked home, tucking my hands in to the pockets of my leather jacket, listening to the sound of it skipping along the street, reverberating in the isolating fog. Visibility wasn’t great, but it wasn’t quite pea soup. I shivered and pulled my collar up around my cold ears as I walked.

Of course I was thinking about my encounters with him. How could I not? Another shiver snaked down my spine. Oh yes, I do think that man is about the sexiest thing on two legs. Still... Ridiculously out of my league. And the whole film star celebrity thing that follows him around? I shuddered. No. I’m so glad that’s not my life. So why is there some small part of me yearning…? I puffed a breath through my cheeks. It was definitely time to snuggle into bed and let the world take care of it’s own.

Headlights illuminated me as I walked along the pavement about 50 meters from my front step, passing and continuing along the road. Just another random late-night driver in the quiet night. 

I lifted my head as I caught the red glare of brake lights, made much brighter than usual as they reflected off the fog, staining the air pink. The car pulled over to the side as I realized it was Peter’s taxi. 

The door closest to the pavement opened and a tall man's figure stepped out, one hand on the open car door.

“Pix…” came quietly through the mist, a streetlight gleaming on the damp in his hair, The humidity had released his curls from their brushed back, gelled constraint. I glanced back over my shoulder at the empty street, and turned back to him.

Tom lifted his hand, but stood quietly in the open door of the cab. My boots came to a stuttering halt as I stared at that long fingered hand 5 meters in front of me.

“Will you…will you let me walk you home?”

“Sure,” I grinned. 

I heard Peter say something and Tom reached for his wallet, pulling out a few notes and handing them through the open window. 

“Cheers. Keep the change.” He backed away, and moved to stand next to me on the pavement, staring down at me, still with that slightly puzzled look.

The taxi didn't move. I waved Peter off, letting him know that I was fine. Peter, our local taxi driver, had been a primary school mate of mine. It's a small village and he was just looking after me. After a moment, he put his taxi in gear and drove on with a wave.

I switched my gaze to Tom, who was still standing there, turned to stone for all I could tell. I waited. Finally he stirred.

“Pix..?” He held his hand out. I shivered in the foggy air, suddenly longing to be in my warm house. I shrugged to myself. What's the worst that could happen? If he's some kind of film star by day, serial killer by night, at least Peter was a witness to who I was with. Not that I thought for one minute that Tom was anything but what he appears to be; a stressed out, lonely man with a pressured job.

I laid my hand in his. It was cold, but then so was mine.

His fingers closed over mine and I stepped past him, leading him the few paces to my front step and fishing in my pocket for my keys. He chuckled as he realised he’d been pranked, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow from our very long walk home. I opened the door, turning and pushing the door shut when he followed me in.

Dropping his hand, I began to shrug my coat off to hang on the peg. His hands grasped the collar and helped me out of it, hanging it up and shrugging out of his own jacket too, dropping it over mine on the same peg. I toe’d off my boots and so did he, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You didn't, like, lie in wait and follow me, did you?” I asked curiously.

“What? No! I took my friend Luke to drop off at the train station and was just on my way back to my rented room, when I spotted you walking.” He paused, seeming to fight with himself before saying, “You really shouldn't walk about alone so late at night, someone might...”

I nodded. At least he hadn’t been creeping. As for the other, I’ve had that conversation too many times to count, so I simply made a joke of it. 

“...Offer to walk me home?” I teased.

He smiled at my teasing but I felt the need to reassure him. 

“This is a very small village, Tom, and in case you didn't notice Peter waiting for my okay before driving off, we do look after our own.”

We stood about a meter apart, simply looking at each other. He stood indecisively chewing on his lip, eyes flicking around the small space. I waited, wondering what he needed from me.

I can sometimes sense when a change is coming, and it was about to walk right through my lounge. I shivered at my intuition. I knew that something was on my horizon, but I surely couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad. It might not even have anything to do with the man currently standing uneasily in my foyer.

The charged silence was becoming awkward, so I used the universal uncomfortable silence breaker to ease the tension as I asked. “Tea?”


	3. Comfort~Healing~Peace

Chapter 3 Comfort~Healing~Peace

My cottage isn’t large, two reasonably sized rooms downstairs, lounge on one side, kitchen and a tiny loo on the other. Two bedrooms and a shared bath upstairs. What it lacks in space it makes up for in charm and period features, like the huge fireplace, and the stone floor in the kitchen.

Tom’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open when he caught sight through the doorway into the rest of the house. He stepped toward my lounge, coming to a halt in the open doorway.

“Something wrong, Tom?” I asked curiously. He laughed.

“No! But do you know, I have that same Star Wars film poster!” He waved a hand at the wall over the bookcase.

The poster is one of Leia holding a blaster in her white gown and cinnamon bun hair. It says “A Woman’s Place Is In The Resistance”.

I laughed. “Do you have a sister as well, then?”

He looked oddly at me. “Yes, I have two. How did you know?”

I gestured at the poster. “You needn’t look so spooked! It was just a random bit of free association! My sister gave it me when my Nan left the cottage to me and I moved in here. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of her.”

Tom blinked and shook his head, smiling sheepishly.

“As it happens, my sister Emma gave me that poster.”

Now it was my turn to blink, but I kept my mouth shut. He doesn’t need to know that my sister is called Emma, too. Well, one of them, anyway.

“Would you like a cuppa?” 

Tom seemed relieved and nodded. “Yes, thanks. That would be lovely.” 

He followed me through to the kitchen and watched as I pottered about, prattling to fill the silence.

“So, is Star Wars a favorite of yours, then?”

“Oh yes!” He said enthusiastically. “I loved the whole first trilogy when I was a boy.”

I slanted a glance at him as my hands hovered over my selection of teas.

“But—?” I queried. Tom wrinkled his nose.

“Well… I didn’t much care for the second trilogy. But I adored the last three, ‘The Force Awakens’, ‘Rogue One’, and ‘The Last Jedi’, were brilliant! Daisy Ridley is quite good. Oh!” A smile spread across his face. “And I got to meet Carrie Fisher!” His smile faded. “Before she died…”

“You liked her?” I pried quietly, as I selected our tea. The man seems to swing perpetually between cheerful and a palpable sadness, so I chose my cheering blend.

“I did, yes.” He shook himself and turned away from the painful subject. “So what’s your favorite film?”

“Well… don’t laugh!”

“Never!” He promised with a grin.

I narrowed my eyes playfully at him. “You’re lying to me right now, aren’t you?” I asked suspiciously.

“Who, me?” He laid a hand over his heart piously. “I would never!” He swore solemnly, but I could see a definite twinkle in his eyes. And a silent plea to keep our light banter going?

I gestured to my kitchen table and he sat down to watch me. While the kettle boiled, I found the teapot, and some of the biscuits that Jane had insisted I take yesterday, after I had helped her make and tidy away her baking mess.

“Alright.” I sighed, covering my eyes in mock shame. “I really love 80’s musical films…”

Dead silence. I glanced up at him, narrowing my eyes and waiting for him to take the mickey. He held his hands up.

“Not laughing!” But I could see the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed mirth.

“Good.” I glowered. “Because that would be rude.”

I held his eyes as long as I could before we both broke into laughter. Did he think I was joking? Silly bugger...

When we recovered from our laughing fit, Tom sheepishly admitted that he really liked musical films too.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I used to dance around my Mum’s lounge in my underpants, a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business, singing into a hair brush!”

I set the teapot on the table while it steeped and fetched cups, sugar and milk, grinning as his words conjured the image in my head. I’ve seen ‘Suburban Shootout’ and have no doubt his claim was true. As well as a pretty good idea what he looked like doing it!

Tom sipped his tea and looked surprised, peering into his cup.

“This is very nice. What is it?”

“My own blend,” I said with a smile and a shrug. “It’s basically just a breakfast blend with a couple of extra ingredients.”

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked. 

“It’s just some strawberry tea, a little Chamomile for calming, and just a touch of lemon tea for contrast, along with your basic Earl Grey. The bergamot in the Earl Grey is a natural mood lifter. You seem like you could do with a bit of lifting.”

“It’s lovely,” he assured me. “So, is this what you do? Make tea and succor lost souls? Is there much money in that?” He grinned slyly over his teacup.

I laughed. “No to all of that! I’ll have you know,” I stuck my nose in the air, “that I own and operate my own Senior Home Care business!” 

Tom blinked and looked thoughtful. “That sounds interesting. What does that entail exactly?”

I shrugged. “I do for three elderly ladies, sometimes four, popping into their homes every day to see they're all right, that they've taken their meds, are eating regularly and where necessary, helping with bathing and their toilette. Our Jane has arthritis in her shoulders, can’t lift them, you see, and needs help with her hair. 

“I do some light housekeeping, shopping, cooking, change the odd light bulb for them, and anything else required to keep them living independently and out of a nursing home for as long as possible. A lot of of my day is spent taking them around on their errands.”

Tom nodded, looking interested, which surprised me. “That seems like a necessary thing to do. Running your own business has it’s rewards?”

“Oh yeah. I used to work with an agency, but owning my own business means that I can choose clients closer to home. I got a bit fed up with zigzagging all over the countryside. The agency often had me scheduled to be on the other side of Stratford first thing in the morning, then back on this side, and then right back to the other side of Stratford before noon. I spent more time on the road some days than I did actually caring for clients! I like it much better now that I’m in charge of arranging a more sensible schedule.

“It has it’s downsides too… I’ve lost a few clients since I started, mostly to the Nursing Home down the way, because they needed 24 hour care that I can’t offer. Sometimes they take the more direct route to the cemetery, a depressing reality in a job like mine, but people will just kept ageing year after year,” I shrugged. “So it isn’t long before someone finds themselves in need of my services.”

“That must be difficult to lose a client that you’ve come to know and care about, “ he sympathised.

“Usually.” I chuckled ruefully. “Sometimes it’s a real blessing for all involved. In any case, when one of my Old Girls passes, it’s not the midwife’s fault, as Mum would say.”

Tom smiled and nodded his understanding. We drank our tea, ruminating companionably. I waited, half expecting that Tom would want to talk about whatever was obviously bothering him, but no joy.

After the third time his eyes came up and searched my face before skittering away, I decided that I needed to take things into my own hands. But how to make clear that this wasn’t a come-on, and to avoid the embarrassment of getting it wrong..?

I leaned back, propped my feet on the seat of the empty chair next to me and crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes and scowling a bit. I tried to project the opposite of ‘Hey baby…’

“Is there anything I can do for you, Tom? You look pretty stressed out.”

Tom paused, searching my eyes, noting my body language, and looked a bit relieved. He sighed and after a moment contemplating me, spoke quietly.

“It’s... been a pretty exhausting couple of years. Back to back filming, an amazing amount of travel between locations and film promotions… The fans called that year the Tompocalypse. And they weren’t far wrong, I can tell you. It’s nearly undone me...” 

Tom’s long finger traced around the edge of his mug of tea, over and over, as he talked. He’d slumped in his chair, looking tired and defeated, and the moment stretched.

Tom grimaced. “Got anything for headaches?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

I frowned. “Sure.” I hopped up from my seat and went to the old fashioned wooden bread box on the counter where I stored my herbs and essential oils. 

“Do you have any allergies?” I asked him over my shoulder, my hands busy among the small bottles. I could see he was still rubbing a point right between his eyebrows.

“No… Not unless you count cats?”

I smiled. “Good to know. But no, I won’t be putting any cat dander in this, nor eye of newt, either!” He chuckled quietly and watched me move about my cupboards.

I pulled out a jar of coconut oil, pouring a couple of tablespoons into a small pottery bowl and selecting a small bottle of Lavender oil, and one of lemon verbena. I mixed in a scant drop of the lavender oil and another of the lemon verbena, and brought the bowl to the table.

Next I grabbed a clean tea towel, wet it at the sink and popped it in the microwave, setting it to heat to scalding and leaving it to keep warm.

I hopped up onto the table in front of him, and smiled in a friendly, reassuring way.

“Move your chair back from the table about a foot, would you?” I instructed and handed him one of those neck pillows that aeroplane travelers use. 

“...And now scoot right down in your chair, and rest your head back…” I waited for him to follow my directions, which he did with no hesitation, adjusting the pillow to his liking. 

“Good. Alright?” Leaning back, sitting low on his tailbone, legs sprawled under the table, and his head cradled comfortably against the chair back, Tom nodded.

“Right. I want you to scrub your face pretty hard, like you’re aggravated, or having a hard time waking up. Get stuck right in.” I directed firmly. His brow wrinkled in confusion, but he did as I asked, lifting his hands, scrubbing hard, and continuing until I told him to stop after about fifteen seconds.

“Alright?” He nodded. “Ok, turn your hands over and lay them in your lap, palms up.”

I waited for his hands to settle comfortably on the tops of his thighs. “Close your eyes…” I murmured quietly. “Breathe deeply, in for a count of six…and out for a count of six. And again… Now take a breath of air and hold it in your mouth… swish it around as if you were swishing with mouthwash… Go on, move the air around, fill the spaces between your gums and cheeks… back and forth, feel the stretch of your cheeks… Fill the space under your tongue... That’s right. Now let the air escape slowly and breathe in again… and out…”

I watched him breathe for another few moments, noting the way his shoulders loosened and his mouth softened.

“Ok, let it all go… let the chair support your head, let your spine melt into the chair… Leave your eyes closed… You’re safe and warm, nothing and no one is going to bother you…” I watched as a faint smile crossed his face before he deliberately forced himself to be in the moment. The tension drained from his face, his lips parting slightly, and body going soft.

I dipped my fingers into the oil mixture, rubbing them together vigorously to warm them, smoothing the oils over my fingers and palms. Judging the distance from my seat on the table to reach him, I decided I’d better steady myself so I didn’t topple right onto him. I scooted forward to the edge of the table and carefully set my sock-clad feet on the hard tops of his thighs. I waited for him to object, but he accepted my touch without so much as a flinch. 

“This is coconut oil with just the tiniest touch of lavender and lemon verbena.” I murmured as I lifted the bowl, passing it under his nose. “The herbs are very aromatic, but soothing, yes?” 

Tom’s nose twitched cautiously before taking a deeper breath, his chin dipping in a bare nod to my question.

“I’m going to put my hands on your face now…” I warned gently. Leaning forward, I reached for his face, placing my warmed, cupped hands over his closed eyes, letting the heat soak into the darkness over his eyelids. “Breathe…”

After a moment I began to move my hands, stroking his face, moving to his forehead and simultaneously stroking each hand outward from the centre, drawing them down his temples to his cheeks and jaw, lifting and moving up to that spot between his brows, drawing down over his nose, around his upper lip, curling around his mouth to his chin, and back up, starting the journey all over again. 

“Have you ever been to a beach in the Caribbean, or the South Pacific?” I murmured very quietly, continuing stroking his face.

“Mmhmm…”

“Can you imagine yourself there now?” I moved my thumbs, stroking back up to his forehead and circling over that spot between his brows.

“You’re alone, there’s no one for miles around… It’s a lovely warm day, but not scorching…” I left a long pause between each evocation, giving him time to imagine and to sink comfortably into it. “You can feel the sun warming you… Hear the rhythm of the waves breaking at your feet… The hissing as the wavelets slide over the sand, and back into the ocean… Smell the salted air… Feel the light breeze ruffling your hair…”

I spoke in a calm, soothing voice, in the same rhythm of the movement of my thumbs moving in tandem, smoothing the warm skin over each of his eyebrows, repetitively from center to temple.

I closed my own eyes, imagining with him, almost feeling hands on my own face, sun warmed, and the rhythm of ocean in my ears. I let the silence stretch out over us. I felt our breath and heartbeats synchronise, the faint gust of bergamot scented air on my face when he breathed out…

I’m honestly not sure how long I allowed myself to float with him. No more than a few minutes, I saw by my kitchen clock, though it seemed much longer. I blinked my eyes several times to bring myself back into the now.

Looking at Tom, I could see that he was this close to falling asleep, and that wouldn’t do at all. I deliberately lightened my strokes, moving from just his forehead to the rest of his face. 

“You’ll sleep so well tonight, deep and dreamless… You’ll wake rested and refreshed, ready to begin your day with energy and good will… Feel yourself gently rising to the surface of your awareness… Come back to this room slowly, Tom…” I murmured just a little louder.

I instructed him to keep his eyes closed and trailed my hands away. 

Retrieving the tea towel that had been cooling in the microwave, I brought it to the table. It was still quite warm, but no longer scalding. I folded it in thirds and warned Tom that I was about to lay it over the top half of his face for a minute, leaving his mouth free to breathe.

I sat back and watched him come fully back into his senses, as if waking from a dream. He seemed far less tense than before, his shoulders were as low and relaxed as I’d seen them.

Then a playful smile crept slowly over his features. “You could have just given me a couple paracetamol, you know.”

“And lose my excuse to massage this face?” I cocked my head innocently. “Where’s the fun in that?” I pulled the cooling towel from his face and grinned down into his face.

Somewhat reluctantly, I removed my feet from his very solid thighs and swung them around before sliding down off the table. 

“Thank you,” he said, catching my hand as I moved to take the bowl of leftover oil over to the sink and wash my hands. 

“My pleasure.” I flashed him a smile over my shoulder. He looked at my kitchen clock and his face fell. 

“I’m really very sorry...” he said as I turned away from the sink, wiping my hands on a tea towel. 

“You’ve got to go,” I stated. “I’ll text Peter for you, he’ll be back here for you in no time.” I reached for my mobile.

“How did you—” he looked incredulous that I’d guessed he had to leave. It was only half nine, after all, not usually the time most people have to get home to bed.

“You were on your way to your room when you spotted me, and it’s now an hour and a half later.”

“I have a 4 a.m. call time,” he explained apologetically, but I wasn't sure if he was convincing me that he had to leave, or himself.

“I understand,” I assured him. 

“Well, thank you for the tea and biscuits, and the headache cure.”

“Sure,” I smiled, following him through to the front hall. 

He paused to put his boots and coat on, then turned to me.

“Pix…” There was such yearning in his eyes as he looked down at me. I smiled, not needing words or explanations. 

Evidently Tom must have felt the same as he cupped my cheek and his lips brushed mine ever so gently. I closed my eyes as he kissed me again, firmer this time. He pulled away and looked down at me, but as he lowered his head for a third kiss, Peter tooted his horn twice. It was the jolt back to reality that made me aware that my hands were clinging to his wrists, keeping myself grounded because the earth felt like moving to spin me off into space.

I could see Tom was torn between kissing me again, and not keeping Peter waiting. I made the decision for him, rising up on my toes and reaching high to pull his head down at the same time. Peter can bloody wait. This was my last chance, so I wanted to make the best of it. I kissed him like I would never see him again. Whenever he thinks of a kiss, I wanted it to be this one that he remembers. It was a toe curling kiss that I felt in the marrow of my bones, and judging from Tom’s slightly dazed look when I pulled away, I had succeeded. 

I was about to say something incredibly profound, like ‘Please fuck me now!’, when bloody Peter tooted his horn again, getting impatient, so I ended up saying, “Sleep sweet.”

He sighed, seemingly no happier than I was about ending our evening. 

“You as well. Goodnight, Pix.”

And then I was watching him stride down my short path. I leaned a shoulder against my door jamb in a casual pose that I hoped would hide my trembling knees. He slid into Peter’s taxi, glancing up and lifting a hand before driving out of my life.

I shut my front door firmly on a little piece of might-have-beens after waving Tom off with a quiet ‘good night’. I leaned back against it and took a deep breath, letting it trickle out slowly.

There was something about him... Something more than the obvious. Leaning my head against the door, my hands down by my hips and fingers pushing into the wood, I thought over my evening with him, from introduction through Julia, to the warm feeling of his skin under my hands as I soothed his headache, and that very...odd? Alluring? Adventuresome? dance with him on the dark patio.

I’ve had this odd sense of changes coming all evening. The hand I had held over his heart in the pub clenched, remembering the hard, too fast, thump under my palm. 

My body remembered the rhythm of our dance, appreciating the brush of his body against mine, and the firm, directing movement of his hands leading me through a dance to a beat that only I could hear.

I shivered with the strangest sense of anticipation, a chill running up my spine, and went to tidy away our tea things.


	4. Fall down seven times, get up eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should add a 'slow burn' tag to this?

When I finished my shower and my first cup of energising tea the next morning, I hauled my yoga mat out into its usual place in front of the east facing window, attempting to clear my mind for my morning practice. As I moved through the controlled movements of Sun Salutations, I did my best to breathe into the now, and let my mind empty out for a bit. It felt so good to stretch in the morning sunlight…

When I opened my eyes, I felt warm and relaxed, a bit as if I’d had a glass of wine, and unworried about last night. I’d had an unusual and interesting encounter at the pub, danced with a stranger, and made a friendly acquaintance, I hoped. Maybe added my bit to the karmic pool of Kindness to Strangers.

Dressed in my usual working uniform of lilac scrubs, I headed out to begin my morning rounds for my Old Girls. I shook my head. Working with the ‘Old Girl’s Club’ as they called themselves, when they’re in a group was a lot like being in the middle of a flock of chattering budgies. Trying to keep them corralled was a cause I never gave up trying, but I feared it was a lost cause. One thing about my job, I’m never bored!

At least twice a week I drive the Senior Centre minibus for my three, and another four or so from the Centre on their outings to... well, anywhere they want to go. Museums, the theatre, the grand opening of the latest Tesco... wherever they list.

Today they apparently 'list' the filming in the centre of town. Oh, dear. Just what I need, shepherding a bunch of wayward Old Girls determined to get into the thick of things in the middle of Tom's film set! I diffidently tried to dissuade them, but that set the cat amongst the pigeons, I can tell you! They all turned on me, talking over each other.

"Dear God, Pix! Don't start them arguing again!" said Mrs. Grace Bennett. Always the peacemaker, Grace.

"But I want to see the action!" - Mrs. Annette Cohen, aka Nan, wanting to be on the scene. Insatiably curious and eager, village life is a daytime drama and vastly entertaining for our Nan.

Quiet snickering. That was Mrs. Julia Whitaker. She's always delighted with a little chaos, and isn't above creating it when she's bored. 

"But, where are we going? I thought –" said Mrs. Margaret Harris, plaintively. Oh dear, Maggie had that confused look on her face that had recently begun to cloud her usually sharp personality more and more. I resolved to keep an extra close eye on her today.

"Hush, Maggie, it's all right." Mrs. Violet Winston soothed, the ‘Mum’ of our group. I can count on Vi to help make sure Maggie is all right...

"But, do you think there will be any place to park close by?" fretted Mrs. Helen Chatham. Our worrier, and the pessimist of the group. It’s a good job that I can text Jamie to nip out behind the pub and save us a parking spot near the action.

The chattering budgies all overlapped, creating the most fantastic bibble-babble, and overall, taking charge as usual:

"Quiet! It's been decided! Pix will drive us down close to the filming and we will see what we see!" ordered Mrs. Jane Tipton. So practical, our Jane. Once headmistress of an all girls school, she'll keep us all marching in two straight lines!

And so it was decided, once and for all, that we were going, and I was given no choice in the matter as usual. I shuddered at the idea of keeping track of them all in the hullabaloo. Not to mention trying to prevent any of them disrupting the very expensive filming taking place! 

This is my life. I might sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not! I could be working in a bank or a shop for my living, but instead I spend my days chasing around after a gaggle of the weird and wonderful. There's not a one of them under the age of 80, but they keep me on my bloody toes, I can tell you!

They might each have made me tear at my hair at one point or another, but I wouldn't trade the old ducks for anything!

In any case, I was glad to see some spirit back in the group. Two weeks ago our outing was to bid farewell to the eighth Old Girl, Pauline Densmore. She'd been our comedienne and only spinster. I had hated finding her cold and peaceful in her bed on that rainy morning. Pauline was sorely missed.

But there's still life and fun to be had, not to mention tea and cake, and they're all in rare form today and ready to go. I loaded them all up carefully, checking they all had their walking sticks and handbags, listening to the excited chatter and cackles of laughter that filled the minibus as I drove.

It's a small town, so we hadn't far to go. Pulling up in the space Jamie had saved for us behind the pub, we had only a short walk to the barricades erected to block off the village main street for the film people. 

After helping the old girls out of the van and making sure everyone was accounted for with all their accoutrements, sticks and handbags and in some cases, hearing aids, I trailed along behind them down the street to the nearest barricade, Julia and Jane in the lead as usual. The area was crowded with onlookers, all chattering away and obviously enjoying the spectacle. 

And spectacle it was! The main street was blocked, pavements and street filled with unfamiliar signage, electric cables snaking randomly across the street, cameras and dollies and a thousand, it seemed, unfamiliar faces milling about, waiting for some unseen signal, some of them striding through the herds with purpose, carrying things urgently to and fro.

A cheer went up amongst the onlookers, and there they were. Thor and Loki. My tummy did a small backflip. They both turned and waved, smiling at the crowds of out-of-town fangirls in an oddly simultaneous gesture. A small woman trotted up to Tom—Loki!—and held a beautifully pressed and tailored black suit coat up for him to slip into. It didn't escape my notice that he smiled and spoke kindly to the wardrobe assistant, obviously thanking her courteously as she smoothed the coat over his shoulders and tweaked a strand of his long black hair.

The old girls were nudging each other and commenting on the ‘scenery’. Julia, damn her, captured everyone's attention by regaling the Old Girls with a highly coloured accounting of Tom's appearance in the pub last night, and his meeting with me, painting me as some sort of enchantress who had utterly charmed the man and left him barely able to stand.

Seven pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at me speculatively. Bless all the great and little gods that none of them had any idea that the sum total of my brush with celebrity was a cup of tea, a headache cure, and a (mostly) chaste chat! Of course, it didn't stop me going a bright, tomato red! All the intense scrutiny warned me I'd spend the next weeks fending off questions and teasing speculations from each of them. Not to mention motherly advice. Goddess give me patience!

Oh dear, the actors were moving our way, obviously intent on spending some of their unoccupied time teasing the fangirls, taking selfies, and signing autographs.

Julia had marched right up through the crowd at the barrier, with multiple iterations of ‘Excuse me, young lady’, ‘Coming through!” and with the judicious application of her stick, she sailed through the excited throng of fangirls as if parting the sea, with grace and aplomb. 

The Old Girls, by virtue of their unembarrassed appeal to their great age—Jane had once confided to me that she was ‘old enough to fart in church, dear’—had managed to follow Julia to the front of the barricade for the best view. The two actors worked their way down the line, laughing and joking, signing their names like mad and taking selfies.

I followed, cursing under my breath and slightly terrified as they made their way through the noisy crowd, compelled to follow my charges.

I turned back from steadying Maggie over the kerb and realized that Tom—I mean Loki—was just there, at the barrier alongside Thor. Tom kept shoving the swinging strands of a shoulder length black wig—quite a good one!—behind his ears, obviously unaccustomed to, and slightly irritated by the longer hair. Suddenly he looked up and caught sight of Julia, his face creasing into an honestly delighted grin.

I faded back a little, feeling suddenly shy, tucking behind the much taller Maggie and peering around her elbow just as he lifted his head, his eyes searching through the crowd.

My breath caught as his eyes landed on me. He flashed me a wide smile and turned his attention back to Julia. 

They were too far away to hear clearly over the noise of the overexcited crowd, but I watched him smile at her brilliantly and take her hand, leaning down to speak into her ear. She nodded her head vigorously and said something back to him.

She turned to Violet and said something, who then turned to Jane and repeated her message, and so on until all the Old Girls had received the message and were all smiling and nodding delightedly.

Except, naturally, Maggie, who simply looked confused. Jane took charge of Maggie’s elbow and began a general exodus of the group, leading us all out of the crush and down the street, some distance away from the crowd.

“I thought you all wanted to see what the excitement is all about. Have you all had enough already?” I asked, bewildered, when at last we were far enough away that I could be heard over the screeching crowd noise. They were grinning like cats who got all the canaries!

“We’ve been invited along on a personal tour of the set, dear. Didn’t you hear?” Julia said with a mischievous twinkle as she smiled smugly at me. “Your lovely Tom said that he’d send someone ‘round at the end of the block to fetch us and bring us right onto the set! He and that very muscular young man have offered us a personally guided tour! Isn’t that nice?”

I stood stunned. Seriously? I will not throttle Julia, I reminded myself firmly. That would be illegal. And wrong. Really, very wrong. I ground my teeth.

“He’s not my lovely Tom…” I spluttered ineffectually as Jane continued to chivvy us down the lane to the next cross street. Oh hell, maybe it’ll be alright. But I was horribly embarrassed that my Old Girls have bullied their way onto what I know must be a terribly expensive film set, interrupting goddess knows what. Best I can hope for is that they’ll behave themselves, get their little tour, and then let me get them out of the way of the film crew. 

I can’t imagine what possessed Tom to offer a guided tour to this bunch of cackling old biddies… but done is done. A nice young lady invited our group to follow her around the block.

Tom and Chris sauntered over to our group and invited everyone to sit at a group of chairs, and have tea while they patiently answered questions about filmmaking and acting. Chris --or should I say ‘Thor’— was called away briefly to reshoot a position, or expression, or some such thing. Tom explained that a good amount of their time on set was actually spent standing around waiting for the cameras and lighting to be right before reciting their lines. And then reshooting the same scene from different angles The two of them thanked us profusely for hanging about and relieving their boredom for that hour!

Tom was fetched for something back on set, and our little party broke up. It was time to get my Old Girls home to their tea. They all thanked Chris prettily, asked him to pass their thanks on to Tom, and we made our way back to the bus.

Amid the chatter and bustle of getting everyone aboard and seated, I overheard Julia say that she had asked Tom if he knew Sir Patrick Stewart. 

“I was hoping for an invitation to meet him. Such a lovely man. But alas, your Tom doesn’t know him.” she sighed melodramatically. I rolled my eyes. There it was again, ‘my’ Tom.

“Isn’t Sir Patrick a bit young for you, Julia?” Jane asked.

“Isn’t he a bit married for you, Julia?” I asked archly.

“Isn’t he a bit strange for you, Julia? I mean, he sleeps in a lobster suit, I heard…” Nan said with an evil grin. That set everyone cackling and I just shook my head as I handed Violet her cane, and turned back to the front. These Old Girls have the most amazing collective knowledge about the oddest things. Though I didn’t have any room to talk. I happened to have seen that photo of Sir Patrick in a lobster suit, but he’d been in the bathtub. Which was just as weird, and not my business at all! Who am I to kink shame Sir Patrick, after all?

Just as I got everyone settled and went to sit behind the wheel, a tall shadow appeared in the doorway of my bus.

I watched Loki take both steps into the mini-bus in one long-legged step up. I stood stunned as he rose up, and up, head and shoulders bent under the roof of my bus, but managing to loom over me nevertheless—it’s not like that’s hard! 

The mischief in his eyes as he looked down at me from Loki’s face… Then he winced and threw an exasperated look at the low (to him!) ceiling when his head knocked into it again.

“For heaven’s sake, step down so you don’t leave grey matter on my ceiling, won’t you??” I scolded, pointing emphatically at the bottom step. His eyebrow quirked devilishly and his smooth smile widened.

“As you wish.” He moved down to the lower step.

I glanced around at the silence behind me, wondering if they’d all expired, they were so quiet. The Old Girls are never quiet! And there they were, utterly fascinated. Maggie nudged Violet with an elbow and they snickered to each other behind their hands.

No sooner had I been distracted than he reached out, hooked a long arm around my hips and pulled me forward to stand on the step above him. He glanced over my shoulder.

“I’m not above a little street theater for a good cause, love. Shall we give your Old Girls something to talk about?” he murmured into my ear. I snorted. Like they didn’t already have plenty to gossip about!

But, what the hell, right? Be present now, right? Seize your opportunities, right? I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could manage.

“Sure... Say ‘yes’ to the improv and all that, right?”

His other hand went into the short curls at the back of my head and tugged, tilting my face up to his. Mischief sparkled in his eyes. Oh. Dear.

His eyes hooded and jaw clenched as he stared down at me a scant three inches from my face. A sudden chill ran down my spine, and my eyes widened. I hadn’t bloody expected this!

“Say my name.” he purred, somehow pitching his voice loudly enough to be heard in the back, while still maintaining the intimacy of the moment with me.

Well, damn. I swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry mouth. My knees wobbled as I recalled the comi-con video I’d seen online.

“Lo-“ My voice quavered and I cleared my throat. ”Loki.” My voice had gone all husky, and I could feel that my eyes were stretched as wide as saucers.

I heard a collective gasp behind me, but I couldn’t tear my attention from his eyes to throw a dirty look over my shoulder at our audience. I wished them all to perdition in that moment!

One corner of his mouth curled in sly pleasure as he watched my reaction, and he brought his mouth down on mine, brushing over my lower lip, stealing my air. His lips firmed on mine and he explored my mouth. I hadn’t much choice but to return the favor. Honest. My knees threatened to buckle...

Tom broke the kiss, licking his bottom lip thoughtfully as he pulled away slowly, holding my eyes. Then a wolf whistle pierced the moment. Damn it, Julia! That started a general, tension breaking laughter and cheers.

Tom grinned at me, and nodded his chin over my shoulder.

“Take a bow, darling.”

Bow? Oh, right! I grinned at him and turned, miming fanning out a skirt and curtsying to our audience. The Old Girls clapped and cheered as Tom joined my bows. He took my elbow and addressed the Old Girls.

“You won’t mind if I borrow your driver for a moment, will you darlings?”

I gasped as he tugged me from the bus without waiting for an answer, though I did hear a faint, breathy “Not at all...” and “Take your time...” as he lifted me from the step and set me on my feet outside.

His grin was puckish. “That ought to keep them occupied, don’t you think?”

I twisted my mouth to the side at him and said mock severely, “Why do I think that was more for your amusement than theirs?”

“That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!” he said piously, then changed the subject abruptly, going serious.

“I’ll be finished in a few hours, do you think... I mean, would you consider coming out to dinner with me?” His voice was oddly bashful after that kiss.

“Well... Alright.” I twisted my mouth up and pretended to hesitate. “If you’ll give me pudding?” 

“That’ll depend on how good you are,“ he smirked. “Pick you up at half seven?”


	5. Dance it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last we move beyond the slow burn, my lovelies!

I had a couple of hours before Tom picked me up for our dinner date. I sat staring at my laptop screen, fingers poised on the keyboard, suddenly unsure.

I had intended to look into Tom’s filmography, to catch up on his body of work. I’ve obviously seen Henry IV and V. I think everybody in Britain must have seen that incredible spectacular in the run up to the London Olympics.

It was gorgeous. He was gorgeous. I was just the tiniest bit disappointed that actual Tom didn’t sport the curling auburn locks and slightly twee sculpted beard of Henry V in real life. I mean, the Loki look is…yeah. And Tom is vey pretty with the burnished gold, short, gelled back hair… But the ginger Henry V? Fuck. Me.

And that was my sticking point. Did I really want to watch his other works and risk assigning his characters’ personalities to the man himself? It seemed unfair and presumptuous, somehow.

Doesn’t he have a right to be taken on his own terms? It seemed rude to swot up on him. And then there had been his lament about not recognising the bloke that the tabloids portrayed so falsely.

I snapped the lid of my computer shut. I already know everything I need to know about the Internet’s Boyfriend, and I know that he’s not the real person. I think I’d rather let Tom teach me about Tom.

I’d worried at first over what he had in mind for a venue, and what to wear, but pulled myself up sharpish. I’m certain I can trust Tom the gentleman. He would surely have said if he intended us to go somewhere very posh.

Still… it wouldn’t hurt to wear a skirt. I had a fun, dark red can-can skirt with loads of swishy, white ruffles underneath, and an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse that looked good on me. Ooh, and gold coloured gladiator sandals!

With that sorted, I still had plenty of time before I expected him, so I left my gear waiting on the bed while I had my shower and caught up with a few little jobs, hoovering and washing up this morning’s tea cup and porridge bowl.

I’ll admit I daydreamed a bit as I pottered about, thinking over ‘Loki’s’ kiss. That was some snog, and my toes curled recalling it.

I had the radio chuntering on the worktop as I washed the few dishes and idly glanced out the window over the sink, away over the field that backed onto my small garden.

I sighed as I realised that the warm summer’s day had clouded over and begun a misty rain since I’d got home. Ah well. Par for the course in Jolly Olde England. Maybe I’d better rethink my wardrobe choices.

I frowned as I peered across the field to the far hedgerow, watching a lone rambler in a red jacket or jumper, picking their way through the mud puddles that I knew covered that bit of ground, too far away to tell anything about them through the rain, which was beginning to fall in earnest. I shrugged. Maybe they were out walking their dog and got caught out in the muck.

If they make it within shouting distance, and they don’t look too dodgy, I often invite ramblers who get caught in the rain in for a bit of a warm up and a cup of tea. It’s a kindness that has never yet brought me grief. I know most of the folk around here, and the strangers have always been lovely.

The figure across the field suddenly slipped, arms windmilling, and fell splat on their arse. I laughed out loud at the pratfall, but was nevertheless relieved when whoever it was clambered back to their feet.

I don’t do a lot of swearing out loud, unless I screw something really important up, but I can recognize it when I see it, even if I couldn’t hear it at this distance! That bloke was definitely turning the air blue as he stood up and swiped at his bottom and legs in an effort to clear mud off his trousers!

By this point I was pretty sure the figure was male, though I still couldn’t make out much. Something about the way he moved… The rain was definitely coming harder now, dropping down in sheets.

I shook my head in sympathy. I like a nice walk in the rain, me, though I generally take a brolly, and avoid bleeding hurricanes! I shook my head. You never know what you’ll find looking out your own back window!

I set the last dried dish in the cupboard, checked the time, put the kettle on, and went to the loo.

I noticed as I washed my hands that the mirror over the vanity was rather grotty. I nipped back into the kitchen for glass cleaner and made quick work of it.

‘Stay (just a little bit longer)’ from Dirty Dancing was playing from my speakers as I walked into the kitchen to put away the glass cleaner. I happily reached to turn it up, delighted. It’s one of my favorites, and my body fell into the rhythm without thought, the bottle of glass cleaner pressed into service as a dance partner as I sang. 

I had a quick glance out the window over my sink for my poor sodden rambler, but no sign. Just as well. I still need to change, and Tom would be here any mi—

Knocking on my back door interrupted my thoughts. There was Tom grinning cheekily at me through the glass, completely drenched, hair plastered to his head and rain dripping from the end of his nose, looking thoroughly delighted at having caught me out when I whirled about clutching my chest.

I could feel the embarrassed blush heating my cheeks.

I huffed and flounced over to the slider, pushing the glass open.

“You idiot! Whatever are you doing?! It’s cats and dogs pissing it down out   
there—!”

Tom cut off my scolding with a sudden arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet and pulling me into the deluge with him. I shrieked as the cool rain poured down on me, laughing at Tom’s wet state, and at his glee at sharing it with me.

I was drenched in seconds and laughing as he set me on my feet on my postage stamp patio. He coaxed me back into the rhythm of the tune pouring from the open door.

Tom’s cheerful exuberance would be hard to resist in any case, so it’s a good job that I didn’t feel like resisting in the least.

He spun me out onto the wet patio, dancing me through the rain, but when he started to sing the falsetto part, ‘Oh, won’t you stay-ay-ay… just a little bit longerrrr...’ I couldn’t help laughing like a loon. And joining in.

He ended the dance, dropping me into a deep dip, then swept me up and carried me laughing into the dry. Setting me down, his eyes sparked with mischief as he continued my scolding, turning it ‘round on me.

“You’re all wet, darling! Don’t you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?” He accused me with a grin, as he bent to remove his muddy boots.

“You—!” I spluttered, laughing. He reached a long arm and snatched the tea towel off the countertop, turning back to me and grasping my chin to hold me still as he dried my face.

Still holding my chin, he rubbed the towel over my short hair, sopping up the rivulets of rainwater still dripping down and re-wetting my face.

I found myself gaping up at him as he carefully fluffed up the spiky bits of hair at the top of my head, concentrating on fixing my hair for me. Of course, without my hair gel it wouldn’t stay that way.

Tom suddenly stopped and blinked into my face, one hand holding the towel and the other holding my chin tipped up. The smile faded from the creases at the outside of his eyes, his gaze moving over my face. He leaned down, pausing a few centimeters from my lips.

“May I?” Tom asked me very quietly.

I went breathless and nodded. The world seemed to go still for just an instant as he leaned down.

I noticed the raindrops still on his face, glinting diamonds in the kitchen light. And that his eyelashes were in little wet, russet points. His light blue eyes had darkened, his pupils wide.

He brushed cool, rain wet lips over mine once, before dropping the towel and grasping the back of my head to hold me for his kiss. I might have whimpered inside when he lifted his head and glanced around the room instead of kissing me harder.

My head unexpectedly spun and I squeaked, my hands clutching wildly at his shoulders as he lifted me onto the nearest countertop.

He grinned, and then he was at my lips again. And making a right meal of me, one hand in my hair, and the other cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin and leaving a cooling trail of moisture behind.

Tom nudged his way between my knees and leaned into me, his mouth moving over mine, our tongues tangling and teasing. My hands found their way to his jumper, twisting in the damp red wool.

Breaking the kiss, he stepped back, his hands dropping away. I looked up into his eyes with a questioning stare. He broke with a groan.

“Sorry, I…” he said, looking away guiltily. My eyebrows shot up.

“Sorry for what, Tom?” I watched him chew his lip. Back to silence. I could have handed him his hat right then. Maybe I should have... But I was curious, which is generally my besetting sin. He seemed at such a loss. 

Shoving exasperation down and counseling myself to patience, I waited. He didn't even have to look up at me as I sat on the countertop.

At 4’11” (and 3/4!) I don’t often find myself looking down at people. Maybe that’s his problem? I take after Mum’s Welsh side, small, slim and dark, the only one in a family of Viking sisters. I’m often mistaken for a pre-adolescent. Mum calls it ‘super concentrated‘. I call it a pain in the arse. Even people who know me well sometimes seem to forget that I’m a full adult. 

Even worse was the bloke I’d once dated who had wanted me to call him ‘Daddy’. I shivered, hoping that Tom wasn’t harbouring that kink. I’d been fighting nearly every bloody, damn minute of my adult life to be seen as an adult. The very idea of calling any man ‘Daddy’ made my skin crawl. That kind of dependence would be horrifying for me. I guess it’s a thing. But it’s not my thing.

Impatience to know what his hesitation was finally won over. I wrapped my legs around his arse, pulling him closer, my knees spread wide outside his thighs. Looking up into his eyes, I placed my hand on his chest in the exact spot I had in the pub, grounding us both.

“Tom. Tell me.” I demanded quietly.

I felt the tense muscles under my palm begin to loosen. Tom rested his hands on my hips and tilted his forehead to touch mine, drawing a slow breath and releasing it in a sigh.

Leaning back a bit, he lifted his hand, palm facing me. An invitation. I placed my palm against his, both looking at our two hands. My fingers were so small against his that the tips barely reached his second knuckle. 

He flexed his long fingers and turned his wrist, engulfing my entire hand and pulling it back to rest on his chest, looking into my eyes.

“You’re so delicate and graceful... Next to you, I feel a great clumsy oaf,” he whispered, almost shyly. “I don’t want to hurt you...”

I let out a careful breath of relief. Thank god, it’s not the ‘Daddy’ thing. I grinned at him.

“Tom. I’m exactly as tall as I am. I may be small, but I’m tough,” I admonished. “But I promise not to break you!”

He chuckled, relief in his eyes as he leaned closer to me and rubbed his cheek against mine, his five o’clock shadow rough against my face.

I turned my head, catching the new scruff on the sensitive skin of my lips. Dozens of tiny white sparks seemed to light along my lips at the sharp pin pricks of stubble. I smoothed my cheek along his, ending in a long shaking exhale below his ear.

His hand was suddenly in my hair, tugging my head back so that he could see my face.

“Pix...” he exhaled, his breath brushing the skin of my face with the scent of his mint flavoured breath, and the rain washed scent of the outdoors rising from his wet clothes.

I felt all the muscles in my back loosen and relax at the scent of him. He smelt so familiar, somehow...

I paused and drew a deep breath, counting it out slowly, centering and trying to listen to the quiet spaces. I rested my hand over his heart, feeling the reassuring steady thump against my palm. 

His hand covered mine, pressing my hand to his chest, the other hand tilting my chin up to take my lips softly. The warmth of his lips spread through me, leaving me limp and cocooned in his warm embrace. Be here now, I reminded myself, my head whirling. Tomorrow is tomorrow… Be present.

I let another long breath out and opened my eyes to find him watching me intently 

“Hi...” I breathed.

The smile creases fanning from his eyes deepened and he slowly smiled.

“Hullo.”

Where he’d been thrumming with a sort of tired energy, suddenly his shoulders went down and the fingers gripping my upper arms relaxed and began to stroke gently. 

I reached down, crossing my arms to pull my shirt up over my head, letting it fall carelessly on the floor.

Tom’s eyes dropped to my small breasts and widened as his breath stuttered to a halt. One slow fingertip came up and brushed over the bright, glinting little gold hoop piercing my nipple, his breath finally shuddering out. 

His eyes tracked to my other breast, considering it’s twin, a look of almost wonder on his face. I watched his throat work as he struggled for words. Which was honestly a more eloquent compliment than any words...

“Holy hell, Pix…” He breathed, lifting his eyes to mine and cupping my breasts in warm hands, thumbs brushing across aching tips. I didn’t even begin to fill those large palms. His eyes searched mine, light blue to my dark.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed

I knew better, but I wasn’t going to trouble this nice man with my medical history, or what Mum says is a near pathological stubborn independence, right at that minute.

Wrinkling my nose, I shook my head. “I’m not perfect at all, you know.”

“Of course you are. How are you not perfect?” Tom challenged me, looking into my eyes as his fingertips continued to swirl distractingly around my breasts. Maybe he expects me to complain about my tiny tits? Not going to happen.

“Well, I’ve a dentist appointment next week for a filling.” I said mournfully. “I’ll understand if you prefer to go…”

Tom rocked his head back and let out a glorious bellow of a laugh. It was a beautiful sound, and I helplessly laughed back at him.

“Somehow I think I’ll manage to overlook that imperfection,” he assured me once he’d stopped snickering, trying, but completely failing to hide his smile. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll try.” 

“Try not,” I quoted in my best Yoda voice. “Do or do not, there is no try!”

He grinned, his eyes dancing. “Yoda with nipple rings… That just makes you even more perfect!”

I let him have his silly illusions, smiling at him, letting his fingers trace delicately over the swirls of the inked lilies and celtic knot work on my shoulder. My own eyes were occupied, filling themselves with the planes of his face, the flushed pink, parted lips, and still the lines of care and stress, though they seemed less careworn today. He had the tiniest smudge of black at the hairline over his ear, remnant of Loki’s black hairpiece, I suppose.

It was my turn to shiver, his gaze fascinated by the slight wobble of my breasts. He bit his lip and wrenched his attention away, sighing.

He gathered my hands, holding them to the centre of his chest and looking at me earnestly.

“Pix... You should know that I don’t normally do this. There’s just something…” He shook his head at his lack of words. His hands squeezed mine briefly. “I’ll only be here for another week, and then I’m off to Spain for a couple of months on another project... I wish... But I’m so booked up right now, and I can’t… I want to get to know you better, but I can’t promise you more than this next week.” He spoke hesitantly, biting his lip and squeezing my hands again. “But I can promise you whatever happens here... I won’t be with anyone else while I’m with you.” His crooked grin flashed.

“Good to know that I won’t have to beat anyone else up, today.” I narrowed my eyes threateningly.

“Wait. Anyone else? Who—“ Then Tom stiffened and a look of dismay slid over his face. I blinked, surprised.

“You have a problem?” I asked.

“No! But... I haven’t any condoms at the moment...” he grimaced, looking vexed at his lack of foresight. Hmm. I reckoned he wasn’t having me on about not going home with random fangirls...

“No worries. I do!” I smiled. “Is that all the practicalities taken care of?” I asked plaintively, wriggling impatiently. He groaned, his hands grasping my hips, pulling me tightly to himself, and bending his head to nip and kiss at the skin of my throat as my head fell back helplessly.

“I do hope you have more than one of those condoms...” he growled.

“Take me into my bedroom and I’ll let you count.” I murmured into his ear, and licked his neck, tasting salt and a hint of his subtle woodsy cologne. That was all it took.

An arm went around my waist, pulling me from my reverie, and the other slipped under my bottom, lifting and carrying me up the stairs as if I were no heavier than a cup of tea. I wrapped my legs around his waist and twined my arms behind his neck, continuing to lick the enticing little freckles under his ear.

“Second door on the right...” I whispered into his ear. 

“...and straight on ’til morning.” he murmured back.

I laughed out loud in delight. “That’s the spirit!”

Tom rumbled a laugh and strode straight to my bed, holding me up with one arm and bending to strip my duvet down to the foot of the bed with his free hand. Got to appreciate a man who is aware of the niceties. Body fluids don’t mix too well with sage green silk!

“Thank you,” I murmured as he let me slide down his body onto the cool sheets. I moved onto my knees, and reached for his shirt, pulling it loose from his trousers as I pointed my chin at my bedside table.

“Condoms in there…” Despite my matter of fact words, my voice sounded strained to my ear. I felt a warmth creeping up my neck at my tone.

He twisted to reach into the drawer and pulled a few out of their box. I took the opportunity to start on his belt and fumble at the zip of his jeans. Difficult, as he was moving around. When I palmed the hard shape behind his zipper, he went still soon enough. Quite rigid, actually. Pun intended.

“Pix…” his voice went breathy as I released him from the cage of his trousers. Not quite the monster I had feared, but intimidating enough to be going on with! His cock was built like he was, long and elegant, flushed and twitching in my hand.

He obligingly stood still as I let my fingers explore, tracing a prominent vein. How can something so hard and imposing be covered by such silk? I almost managed to wrap my hand around it, glancing up at him as I did so. He seemed mesmerised by the sight, a sentiment that I agreed with as I looked back down. 

I tightened my grip and pulled downward, feeling ridges and veins slide slowly under my palm, revealing his nearly purple crown. Lovely. I bent to taste the small drop of fluid seeping eagerly from the tip. He hissed and grabbed my head when I delicately prodded the tip of my tongue into the slit, seeking more.

Gently he pulled my head up, staring down into my face, a finger tracing my bottom lip thoughtfully.

“This will be over far too quickly if you don’t stop…”

I quirked a grin at him. “So? There’s more where that came from, isn’t there?” I stroked my hand enticingly upward and ran my thumb over his crown. I was quite happy to bring him off first and have his undivided attention after, and had opened my mouth to say so, when his hand wrapped around my wrist in a vise-like grip, gently removing my hand.

“No, Pix.” There was finality in his voice. “If it were morning instead of the end of a very long day, I’d be delighted to let you play, but,” his voice went rueful, “I’m afraid I’ll go straight off to sleep after…”

He loosed his hold on my wrist, his expression turning playful, and he pounced on me, rolling me on top of him as I laughed.

“But I’m not in the least sleepy at the moment!” He grinned at me as I spluttered my surprise at his sudden movements. 

Pushing me to sit up, he went to work on the button and zip of my jeans. I smirked at him as he got them opened, but couldn’t push them off me, since I was straddling him.

“Now what, clever clogs?” I grinned at him, not moving to help. His eyes went sly.

“Now this…” His hand slipped into the opening of my jeans, fingers curling and petting as I gasped. His free hand moving up to pluck at my nipple ring, he watched me intently as he insinuated a long finger between my lips, exploring my soft folds.

I whimpered, wanting to close my legs and capture his hand, to rock against it, but he pulled his fingers away, lifting me and stripping one leg of my jeans away. He shifted my hips down, holding me hovering with the tip of his cock at my entrance.

“Take me, Pix...” he breathed as I moved over his crown, kneeling over him, wetting him and working him into me, slowly spreading me and filling me, hot and hard. And, ohh…

His wide eyes were on me, reading the tight need on my face, as his hands clenched into the sheets at his sides. He lifted his head and looked down our bodies to where we were joined, watching his cock fill me.

His breath was coming in low groans as I worked myself down his shaft and leaned to kiss him, my hands going into his hair to hold him still while I adjusted to his girth. I was slick and wet enough to slide him right in and ride him fast, but I was enjoying this too much to want it to be over soon. I leaned down to brush my lips over his.

Pulling back a millimetre, I whispered. “Fuck me now, Tom...”

His hands came out of the sheets and grasped my hips, holding me tight and grinding against him, not fucking me at all, but lighting me up with deep sensations. I felt the aching kiss of his cock head on my cervix, and felt something loosen and bloom deep inside, making me limp and pliant, letting him take control.

One hand slid up my back and worked its way into my hair, pulling me down into his kiss, kissing me so deeply, worming his way into my soul. I knew I would never be rid of him. I knew it was happening in that moment, and I was helpless to stop it, didn’t even want to stop it.

Tom pulled back from the kiss, still holding my head and stared into my eyes, one hand on my hip as he thrust slowly in and out of me, moving my body at will. 

I could see in his eyes that he felt it too, this connection, knew he was taking a piece of my soul into himself and welcomed it.

“Pix...” he groaned, “take me...take all of me...” Words that should have sounded rough, but were a tender plea.

My eyes roamed over his face, seeing more than I should, his loneliness, his longing, his need for comfort and companionship. I closed my eyes against all the raw emotions in his.

“Hold on to me... Don’t let go...” he whispered, both hands tightening on my hips, rocking into me in a slow sensual slide, moving my body to his rhythm, and then he began to drive up into me. My arms slid under him, legs wrapped around his hips, and face buried in the centre of his chest.

“Fuck, Tom... oh dear gods, please...” I dug my blunt fingernails into the wings of his shoulders, holding on as hard as I could while he battered himself into my body and into my soul.

“Fuck Tom, I’m going to-“

“Yes. Do it, Pix. Take it. Take—“ He growled roughly.

He was yanking my body down onto him, and my brain was ready to fly right out of my head, so I went utterly limp on his chest, surrendering and letting him jerk my hips down on his, grinding my clit on his pubic bone, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips and arse

Up, up I soared, to the top of some windswept cliff, hovering, hovering there, out of my mind, when he toppled me straight down, drowning me in himself.

I pried my eyes halfway open and watched him, his head thrown right back, adam’s apple prominent and bobbing with soft whining moans as he pulsed into me. His eyes and teeth clenched shut as I rippled around him.

His body relaxed from it’s rigid arch, slowly falling back into the mattress, his hands moving from my hips, up my back and cradling me to his chest.

I listened to the deep thunder of his heart slowing under my ear, his breath panting and finally steadying.

I felt no need to speak, and neither did he, content to let me lie atop him. He began to stroke my back gently in a soothing, comforting rhythm, lulling us both.

My eyes drifted shut as I rubbed my cheek against the warm skin of his chest, the sparse hair lightly abrading my cheekbone.

We both drifted off to sleep with his softening length still inside me.

So we didn't actually find the broken condom for about another 45 minutes, when my need to pee prodded me awake. 

As I climbed off I noticed that the condom resembled a shredded balloon. 

I looked up and saw Tom gazing at the condom in shock. 

“Fuck!” he gasped, his gaze seeking mine. “I am so fucking sorry! This has never happened before, I—” 

“Shh, relax,” I smiled. “It’ll be fine! It’s fine. I won’t get pregnant, it’s all good.” I slid off the bed and cleaned up in the loo, not worried in the least. This one time, Endometriosis is a good thing... 

The rain was thrumming down hard on the roof above our heads, loud in the silence after I returned to bed and Tom had his chance in the loo. I cuddled up to him when he lifted the covers and slid in next to me.

Tom trailed a finger over my jaw pensively.

“Why did you scrunch up your nose and make a joke when I called you perfect?” He asked thoughtfully, his hand sliding down to circle a finger around my nipple, and flicked at the gold hoop adorning it. “You are, you know.”

I shrugged and snorted a little bit. “Perfect is boring. There’s no room for life in ‘perfect’. No room for growth. ‘Perfect’ is static. There’s nowhere to go from ‘perfect’, just an inevitable slide into less than perfect.” I glanced up at his face from my place on his chest. “Have you never been called perfect?”

He grimaced and nodded.

“There, see?” I put a finger on the bunched muscle in his jaw. “Did you believe them? Or did you feel they were having you on? Or maybe sweet talking you so they could get something from you? I don’t want to be perfect. I’m not. No one is. At least no one that I’d want to know!” I grinned and lifted my head from his chest, looking him in the eyes. “Though I’d be delighted to accept ‘Above Average’!

Tom laughed, tightening his arms around me into a hug. “You certainly are that!” He kissed my forehead. “So, Miss Above Average, do you still want to go out for your dinner, or shall we pay some poor sod to brave the elements to bring it to us?”

My stomach gurgled at the reminder, and we both laughed as his answered back. I wrinkled my nose as I thought.

“Neither. There’s really only the one take away pizza nearby, and it’s basically cardboard with tomato sauce on. This pizza is the very definition of ‘not perfect’ in a very bad, not good way! That ‘poor sod’ is called Tony by the way. And he knows exactly what rubbish that stuff is. How about we let Tony get on with giving other innocent victims indigestion, and see what we can scrounge here?”

“Are you sure?”

“Worse comes to the worst, it’ll be beans on toast,” I shrugged. “But even then I think I’ve got some eggs and frozen sausages, so we’ll call it a fry up!”

“It just so happens that cooking a proper English breakfast is one of my talents,” he said with a supremely smug smile. 

Suddenly I really hoped I wasn't misremembering the sausages. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” I teased him. 

His answering look told me that whatever we scrounged up, he was going to turn it into a feast! 

I was right. And we had beans on toast, as well!  
.


	6. Comfort Fiercely

Tom appeared at my door the next night promptly at seven, freshly showered and back from Loki entirely, his skin the same lightly tanned gold with tiny freckles scattered over his skin. @@@ But there was something in his eyes, the crease between his eyebrows back in evidence, as if a piece of Loki’s troubles lingered

I studied him, noting and accepting each feature as his own. Loki’s look, with his pale skin and black hair, was utterly banished, Tom firmly in his place, at home in his own skin once again.

His own clothing made a vast difference, black jeans and a blue V-neck jumper and navy peacoat, with those soft grey suede boots.

I only realized we'd been standing on my step and staring silently at each other when he took a step forward and his thumb and forefinger reached to pick up a fold of my shirt and ran it lightly between them.

“Pix..?” His voice was quiet when I looked back up at his face, his eyes catching and holding mine.

Be mindful, I reminded myself. Smiling, I reached for his hand, twining my fingers in his.

“Shall we go?” I asked lightly. Tom's expression faltered and something – disappointment? – flickered in his eyes, before his smile returned.

In that moment I could sense how tired, nay, bloody knackered, he was. There was something muddying his normally sharp gaze, and his smile was a pale replica of his usual grin.

I tipped my head up, furrowing my brow as I watched him. “Would you rather not, and say we did?” I asked gently.

“What?” His confusion was apparent, little vertical lines creased between his eyebrows.

“Would you rather not go out for dinner? I did manage to get some groceries in today. We could cook here instead of going out? I do a totally kick arse stir fry.” I asked patiently. 

Tom blinked at me, a slow warmth crept into his eyes and smiled at my willingness to change plans spontaneously.

“Actually...That sounds lovely. Perhaps a stroll first? If you wouldn't mind?” He gestured at the pavement. “Is that all right?” His voice held a tiny note of anxiety.

I grinned and took his arm, tugging him toward the pavement, and hastening to reassure him.

“There’s nothing I like better than pre-prandial perambulating!”

“Nothing?” Tom challenged with a small smirk.

“Well, nothing that requires clothing! I like a good ramble, me.”

Tom leaned down and darted a sideways kiss onto my temple. We strolled on in silence for several minutes, through the quiet evening streets. 

Night was falling…

On impulse, he lifted his arm and he slowly spun me out, bringing me back into his body, one hand on my waist, the other in mine, pulling me into a slow rock step circle as he looked down into my upturned face.

He hummed some tune and continued dancing me on the pavement, the cool night air brushing across my skin.

I felt his lips bury themselves in my hair, his cheek rubbing against the top of my head. His arms tightened around my waist as he slowed and stopped, lifting his head and staring down into my face. I waited curiously.

Tom looked at my hand, long fingers twined in and out of mine, trailing down the back of my hand.

“You’re a very good dancer. Very intuitive.”

He's a charmer all right, just as I knew right down to my toes the minute his eyes met mine at the pub.

“Well thank you, Tom. That's a lovely thing to say.” 

Lifting my hand, he gently kissed my knuckles, turned and continued strolling quietly along the lane, tucking my hand into his elbow. 

“Pix...” He hesitated as if searching for words, the moonlight picking out his puzzled forehead. “If you don't mind me asking?”

It seemed to me that he was debating with himself whether to ask that question, or to go with a less fraught one. I’m pretty sure less fraught was the winner.

“If you don’t care to draw attention to your size, why do you go by ‘Pix’? Short for Pixie, I assume?”

I wrinkled my nose, annoyed to be reminded, though not at Tom.

“You’ll have to promise not to tell anyone, right?” I waited for his nod. “The name on my birth certificate is ‘Mary Katherine’, but for as long as I can recall, no one ever called me that. Dad called me ‘Pixie’ from day one. All my siblings are tall vikings, I’m the only shrimp. As I got older I shortened it to Pix, trying to sound a little tougher.” I gave him a wry smile and a shrug. 

“About half the people in town still call me Pixie. Peter, your taxi driver, for one. I did try using my real name for awhile at school, but ‘Mary’ never felt real, never felt comfortable.” I laughed. “My teacher that year would call my name and I’d ignore her. She thought I was hard of hearing and wanted me tested!”

Tom chuckled. “Once again the Bard was right. A Pixie by any other name is still as small!”

I snorted. I may not be a Shakespearean actor, but I know my Bard! I used my growliest voice.

“I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptised; Henceforth I will never be ‘Pixie’.

Tom halted, staring at me in surprise, his lips parting, and expression thoughtful before continuing.

He strolled us peacefully along the moonlit pavement, the dark all around and cocooning the two of us. His hand covered mine, tucked into his elbow.

I liked it. And I liked that Tom felt comfortable enough with me to share this little piece of his rebellion with me. A small, brief side step from normal life, a tiny piece of fantasy to embrace and take with him when the real world returns.

I looked up at his face, lit and shadowed by the full moon, pale and pensive, his head bent, shortening his stride and slowing his pace to a stroll, for me. 

The careful voice inside my head admonished me ‘Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup’ . That seemed like good advice to me, staying out of the troubles of the rich and powerful. Except for the other voice that said a little kindness was never amiss.

I ignored the cautionary voice in my head, as I so often do, in favour of kindness.

I didn’t ask any of the silly questions. I asked the hard one, squeezing his bicep as I gazed up at him, asking, “Can I help?”

Tom’s eyes moved slowly over my face. He smiled faintly. “You’re helping right now, Pix. Thank you.”

I nodded and turned my eyes to our steps. “Okay, then.”

After a few more minutes strolling, I glanced back and up at his face.

“Is it lonely?” I asked quietly. He didn’t pretend not to know what I was asking.

“Frequently. Though I’m usually surrounded by people. It’s amazing how lonely one can feel in a crowd.”

He was staring ahead again, clutching my hand as if needing to soak up some warmth. And then the words just started to spill form him.

“I’ve been standing at a crossroad for so long, and I simply don’t know which way to turn. My career is going gangbusters and I’m just so swept up in it.

“It’s funny. Well no, its not funny at all, actually. When I came out of RADA I was so thrilled to be given a part, any part. I worked hard, loved every bit of it and I was so eager to see it all and do everything. Life was loud and colourful and I adored all of it. But this, this was like riding a runaway horse. Eventually it just became overwhelming. It’s too fast, too cacophonous.”

He shook his head and his lips pinched tightly together, a crease between his eyebrows deepening. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the gathered tension between his eyes with a defeated sigh.

I nodded. I wouldn’t like his life, the constant change and bustle would drive me mad. I need to be able to find the quiet, still place inside me, without it, I would be lost. I put my free hand over his, and we walked on.

Tom took a deep breath, his eyes on his feet.

“I’ve been realising more and more that I need a change. Make no mistake, I was delighted at all the opportunities on offer, I enjoyed my first few films, and my career was taking off. I’m not ungrateful! But going flat out, jetting all over the world and living from a suitcase, seeing all those exotic locales, meeting so many fascinating people… I was so lucky to be offered all that, but it’s all bloody exhausting!

“And then, just as I was realizing I needed a break… Look. The thing is...” he trailed off, still searching for words. “I had a rather disastrously public relationship with this girl – woman – that eventually broke apart. It's... complicated.” He took a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to mine before dropping to his feet again.

“When I met her, and I thought at last I could slow down, take on some meaningful projects, not be at everyone’s beck and call. Maybe have something that was just for me…

“She was new and exciting, and utterly distracting from all the weary things that were grinding me down. It was all brilliant…until it wasn’t.

“When I found out that she was secretly conniving with her publicist, letting him tell her when and where we were to go, and leaking to her fans and the paparazzi… I felt so betrayed, so stupid. I was a PR stunt, nothing more, whatever I thought we’d had between us.”

I listened to the bitterness in his voice and felt tenderness well up inside me. I wanted to soothe him.

“By the time I understood that the person in control of our relationship was her bloody publicist, I couldn’t be arsed to fight it. He wanted me gone, and after all that bloody tabloid and bodyguards circus I wanted out.

“One part of me feels guilty that I abandoned an innocent girl to a band of sharks. I’m ashamed to admit that the other part is delighted to be well out of it… But she knew what they were doing, and she chose them over me. So.” His breath blew out in a long exhalation as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squinted shut. 

“That's so sad.” I laid a hand on his in an effort to comfort him. I could feel his regret almost coming off of him in waves. “You have a right to feel sad, you know. I can’t see any need for shame or guilt on your part…”

Idly rubbing his other hand overtop of mine, he watched our hands. He scrunched his face up, opening his eyes wide as if preparing physically to say the next thing.

“And the totally unreasonable and incomprehensible thing is...the whole debacle has been terrific for my career,” he burst out, clearly aggrieved. “Just when I’m ready to throw the whole thing over, I’m booked back-to-back in films, and some truly amazing opportunities have been offered.”

He paused, and I watched the artery in his neck beat stronger, his hands tightening on mine and his mouth a grim slash.

I felt as if I were walking around in the rooms of his life, my fingertips trailing around the perimeter, sticking my head through doorways and exploring.

Tom’s life is not really any different to anyone’s life in general terms, feeling out of control of one’s own life, walking paths that lead to astounding joy or grief, and never knowing which will turn up. Some would say he’s led a charmed life, but as he talked I could see the painful mortar that glues it all together, the bitter and the sweet. His words drew me into the small hurting spaces of his life and made me want to weep for his loneliness.

“So Tom, who are you now?”

His arms tightened, tugging me into a hard embrace.

“I hardly know anymore, darling.”

He looked down at me, his eyes wandering over my face.

“Why do I tell you these things?” He asked rhetorically, shaking his head. I took his question seriously, though. I could feel his need for an answer, even though he obviously didn’t expect one. I gave him one anyway.

“Who am I to judge you? All you’re doing is sharing, not expecting me to change it or fix it, right? Sometimes just talking gives you some perspective. Besides, when you share your troubles they are halved…”

“And when you share your joys they are doubled?” He cocked his head

“That’s the ticket!” I smiled and he smiled back.

“My mum used to say something like that,” he said reminiscently.

“Your Mum is obviously a highly intelligent and perspicacious individual.” I nodded piously, and then we both ruined the solemnity of my statement by snickering.

I felt sad for him, but honestly a little impatient as well, which was unjust. I reminded myself that just because he’s talented, well paid, and prettier than God doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt, or overwhelmed.

“If I may..?”

“Be my guest.”

“Your world is what you make it, Tom. Sure, there will always be shite that you wish you didn’t have to deal with, things that seem insurmountable, but it’s entirely up to you what you do with it. You can choose to ignore it, or work around it. Or you can try to fix it. Your world can be as big or small as you need… There’s this poem by William Ernest Henley, do you know it..? It goes:

Out of the night that covers me Black as the pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul.  
Tom chimed in with me halfway through reciting the first stanza and carried on with me through the rest.In the fell clutch of circumstance,I have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeonings of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbow’d.Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the Horror of the shade,And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find me, unafraid.It matters not how strait the gate,How charged with punishments the scroll,I am the master of my fate:I am the captain of my soul.

I squeezed him tight, his return hug leaving me breathless. Tom’s hand gripped the back of my head, turning my face up to his and his mouth came down on mine, his tongue pushing between my lips, searching for something.

“Thank you, darling.” He murmured into my hair when he broke the kiss.

I leaned my head against his arm and we just kept walking. Because that’s what you do.

I glanced up at the full moon, an idea, a very bad, no good, very silly idea, forming in my mind. I looked at Tom. He was entirely too somber. This could go very well, or very badly...

We were at the end of the lane that dead ended into the wildlife refuge that used to be the old quarry. I knew every inch of this place.

I pushed Tom hard, staggering him with my unexpected assault.

“Tag, you’re it!” 

I heard him shout in surprise as I whirled and took off running, dodging ‘round hedges and a few trees, the moonlight bright enough to see obstacles in my path.

I darted behind a huge oak tree, panting in the moon shadow of it, and peered back at the way I’d come, astonished that I’d actually managed to push him down onto his arse.

“Woman, you’ll be paying for that!” He growled, but I could hear the exhilaration in his voice.

Watching him push himself to his feet, I heard his swearing and threats of retribution floating clearly on the night air. He made a show of dusting off his trousers, paying particular attention to his backside.

I shoved a hand over my mouth to hold in my giggles. I had taken a calculated chance, I was both delighted and relieved that he was willing to play. 

Of course, I had the home field advantage, knowing every bit of the ground...

I turned and faced the other way, cupping my hands around my mouth and shouting toward the opposite wall of the quarry, counting on the echo to confuse my position.

“Mind you don’t fall into the quarry!”

I wasn’t too worried about that, there was a thick hedgerow growing a few feet from the lip, and the moonlight shone clearly on the opposite wall of the quarry.

Tom went silent behind me, hoping to hear me moving about, I suppose. Glancing down, I picked up a rock, leaned around the tree, and threw it off to his right, away from the quarry. It landed with a clatter and had Tom’s head twisting in that direction.

I took off as quietly as I could, trainers leaping from grassy hillock to grassy hillock.

“Got you.” I heard Tom’s low voice growl. A thrill shot up my spine and I had to clap a hand over my mouth to silence my semi-terrified shriek, my body clenching in arousal at being his prey. I stayed still, waiting for him to leap toward me, but the bastard had been bluffing!

I darted to another tree, staying in the moon shadows, and peeked around the other side to see Tom standing stock still, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight and glinting on his eyes as he turned his head slowly, obviously looking and listening for my whereabouts.

Carefully standing in the shadow of the tree, I cupped my hands around my mouth again and spoke toward the quarry’s echoing space.

“Ill met by moonlight, proud Oberon?”

I listened in satisfaction as the quarry threw my voice everywhere. Tom huffed. I could hear his amusement at my challenge.

“Do you amend it then. It lies in you! Why would Titania cross her Oberon?”

I was pleased by his ability to improvise Midsummer Night’s Dream. I crouched and crept to the shade of a clump of gorse that blended with the shadow of the tree I was hiding behind, moving closer and closer to him as quietly as I could.

I hissed in pain as my hand came down on a sharp rock and froze as I saw Tom’s head jerk round, attention focused to the left of me. I waited for a passing cloud to obscure the moon, tossing a pebble in the other direction and stood in the dark. When the cloud passed and the moon shone once again I was not five feet from him.

Tom gasped and laughed loudly. “Now you’re for it, Titania!”

I laughed as he lunged and swept me up into a fierce kiss, his tongue plunging into my mouth and his arms clasping me tightly to his body. I melted against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and giving his kiss back in every measure.

When he let us both up for air he allowed me to slide down his body to my own feet.

Tom stared down at me for a long moment, his hand sliding through my hair. Shaking his head as if waking from a dream, Tom stood back and offered me his hand,

“Now, about that payment..?” He grinned happily at me and tipped his head towards the lights of the cottages at the end of my lane. I nodded enthusiastically.

“You don’t look awfully repentant, darling...”

“I’m not. I guess you’ll just have to catch me!” I took off running toward home, but the long arms and even longer legs caught me up before I’d gone more than five steps.

Tom slung me over his shoulder, clamping a rock hard arm over my thighs to keep me from kicking. I was too busy laughing as Tom marched me home. 

Tom demanded my keys, refusing to put me down, trying to dig them out of my pocket with much laughter and squirming to reach them, and soon we were inside, in my bedroom, and Tom was pulling my top over my head and lifting me to stand on my bed in front of him.

I held him off for a moment as my hand found his cheek, caressing and urging him to look at me. My eyes searched his as my fingers stroked his cheek.

“I can’t tell you which direction to choose. But I can tell you some clever clogs once said this: To thine own self be true.”

“Choose the direction that is best for you, not what you think others want of you. You’ve done your bit. It’s your turn now.”

I leaned down and left a small benedictive kiss on his forehead before lifting his chin and snogging him proper. I smiled at him when I lifted my head, his hands kneading my arse cheeks.

“And if I’ve stuck my nose in where it wasn’t invited, just remember,” I waved my hands in front of his face, “it was all a Midsummer Night’s Dream…”

Tom snickered. “But darling, it’s well past midsummer!”

My hands went to my hips. “You can hardly blame me if Old Will got the time of year wrong!”

Tom burst into laughter, burying his face between my breasts, his laughter fanning out over my ribs in warm gusts. Oddly, I could feel relief in his laughter.

I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the burnished gold and ginger curls, enjoying the silk strands slipping through my fingers.

Tom had fallen silent as my fingers combed rhythmically through his hair, quietly breathing and then nuzzling between my breasts.

His tongue came out and tentatively licked the skin there, before turning his head and capturing my nipple ring in his teeth.

The gold hoop clicked against his teeth as he tongued it, in a sharp, unheard ting that reverberated through my body, making my breath catch and shiver at the sensation.

Tom froze for the space of a breath and then deliberately clicked his teeth against my nipple ring again, with the same reverberating, shivering results. With a soothing lick over my nipple, Tom looked up.

“Now I understand why you wear these pretty little things…” A finger came up and toyed with the ring in my other nipple. He ticked it with his fingernail, laughing in delight when I shivered at the sensation arrowing through me.

I feigned outrage. “You don’t really think I’d stick needles in my nipples because I thought it looked cool, do you?”

Tom winced and pulled a face at my description, before shaking his head and chuckling.

“Well, if I did, I certainly know better now.” His eyes went distant. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully, “I wonder what would happen if we replaced these pretty little hoops with a set of chandeliers, with little dangling jewels?”

I didn’t know, but judging from the way my whole body clenched at the mere suggestion, I could guess. Tom caught my shivering movement and grinned.

“Well now.” Tom’s eyes took on a certain predatory cast. “Do you happen to have any chandelier earrings, dear Pix?”

“Well, yes. But they’re fish hook wires, not hoops…” I said faintly, surprised at this rapid turn of events.

“Let’s see!” Tom challenged. Oh, what the hell, right? Worse comes to worst and Science!Tom’s little experiment fails, I’m sure he’ll make it up to me.

I hopped off the bed, going to my jewelry box on top of my dresser, rooting around for a moment to find them both. I hopped back onto the bed and handed them to Tom.

He examined them, turning them over and dangling them from a finger. They were silver, rather than gold like my hoops, and had a dozen or more tiny amethyst stones dangling at different lengths from them. They clinked together audibly, which is why I never wore them in my ears on windy days.

Tom fingered the fish hooks and looked at my little gold hoops. “I don’t think we really need to swap them out…” he said thoughtfully. He reached out and hung one of the fish hooks from my nipple ring, and with a deft pinch of the fish hook, closed it through the ring. He had cleverly left the end of the wire poking away from my chest.

I stared down at my chest as he stepped back and brushed a finger through the little purple stones, sending them dancing and clicking together madly.

“Oh, holy shit!” It felt like a cascade of musical notes fell through my body to lodge in my clit, and I swayed.

“Oh, brilliant!” Tom crowed and swiftly attached the other in the same way, setting them dancing too.

My hands lifted automatically to clutch at the earrings to calm the jangling flooding through me.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Tom caught my wrists and held them down firmly by my sides.

I moaned out loud when he leaned his head in and his tongue played with the dangling stones, keeping them swinging and clicking together.

Tom’s answering moan shot through my body alongside the percussion that the stones were playing in my cunt.

Tom lifted me and laid me back on the bed, grasping my ankle and kissing the arch of my foot.. His hands went to the button of my blue jeans and swiftly divested me of both trousers and knickers.

I watched as Tom’s thumbs spread me open, letting him look his fill. Leaning over me, he let his tongue circle teasingly around my clit.

My hands found their way into his hair again as he slipped a finger into me. Tom’s tongue was exploring my folds and nibbling at them, a blissful expression on his face, as if they were a treat made just for him. I groaned, my head falling back and eyes fluttering shut. He was going to set me off too soon! I tugged at his hair.

“St-op!” I whimpered. Tom’s head lifted, an eyebrow up quizzically, the low lamplight glinting off his slick chin.

“You have somewhere else to be?” He asked dryly, dropping a licking kiss on my belly.

“N-no! Fu-fuck me, Tom!” I demanded, stuttering in my need.

“Oh, good idea!” Tom reached down and flipped me over, easy as a toastie. I heard his zipper and looked over my shoulder to watch as he took that beautiful cock out and gave it a stroke. My mouth watered.

Shoving his trousers down, he quickly grabbed a condom and rolled it down over that hard length.

Tom lifted me onto my hands and knees, chuckling when the chandeliers on my nipples swung free, clicking and clashing, and my body clenched again.

His hands on my hips, he pulled me back, teasing my cunt, dipping into me the slightest amount before pulling away several times. I gritted my teeth.

“Teasing me to death had better not be your retribution, oh Oberon!” I growled in the most menacing way I could.

Tom snickered and angled himself between my folds to slide against my clit. I couldn’t hold my whimper in.

“Oh, not to death, dear Titania. Where would be the fun in that?!” And he yanked my hips back, bulling his way into my cunt to the hilt.

My chandeliers jangled, my cunt spasmed around him, and I shrieked my need to the heavens.

He paused a moment, panting and swearing about the scorching heat surrounding his cock, and how good I felt.

If he didn’t move soon I was going to lose my mind. I wrenched myself forward and drove back onto his cock, knocking my own breath out of me on his hard shaft.

“Fuck me! Fuck! Me! Tom!” I demanded, and his hands tightened on my hips, yanking me back and angling me to drive a yelp or a moan out of me with every thrust.

The clicking and jangling of the chandeliers were a constant arrow of electric sensation between my breasts and my cunt. It was nearly too much, driving me to a peak so high, and keeping me hovering there for so long, that it was almost a relief when my arms gave out and my face and chest fell to the bed, smothering the cacophany.

“Oh, no! Up you go!” Tom growled and yanked me upright, one arm banding around my torso and the other hand deliberately flicking the chandeliers hanging from my breasts, sending me into a mindless frenzy.

I came and I came hard as I writhed on his cock, breath stopping and spine arching hard, clenching wildly around Tom’s thick cock, sending him over too.

With a last mighty thrust and a shout, Tom fell forward onto me, driving me into the mattress and grinding out the pulses of his own climax.

We both panted for a moment, gasping for breath, but there wasn’t much air under Tom’s heavy body. When I heaved under him he rolled to my side.

“You…you alright, Titania?” He gasped.

I giggled. “Never… Never better, Oberon!” I gasped back.


	7. Warrior

Ch7.1 Warrior

We finally, finally made it out the door for an actual meal, Tom and I. Not that I’m complaining about having to cancel our previous outings. We found something fairly interesting to do with our time anyway...

Peter drove us in his taxi to an Italian place on the outskirts of Stratford that I knew of. My little car was in nick for servicing. By Peter, as it happens. Auto Mechanic is his day job. I’m right pleased that I can get my little old banger serviced locally. 

I sat back and grimaced while Peter regaled Tom with tales of my misspent youth. He was a big man, his plaid shirt tight across his broad shoulders and around his biceps, thick bright ginger hair and a full beard that now covered a large portion of his freckles. His eyes laughed, creases fanning out from warm brown eyes.

He laughingly told Tom about the little blot whom I’d taught a lesson when we were in primary school. An older boy, George, used to pick on and torment Peter when he was just a little sprog. One day after school I’d had enough.

“She didn’t give the wanker any warning! She lept on ‘im an’ climbed ‘im like a cat climbin’ a tree, claws out, so she did!”

He pulled up to a traffic light and turned to look at me admiringly, a huge grin on his face.

“You were what, nine? Of course he was miles taller than you, and he outweighed you by at least three stone!” His gaze turned to Tom and he nodded at me. “She knocked ‘im down and rode ‘im to the ground, grabbin’ ‘im by his ears and bangin’ his head on the pavement. Knocked ‘im silly, she did!”

I felt the blush creep up my neck, and glanced at Tom, who had been hanging on Peter’s every word. Tom’s expression was torn between amusement and admiration. I shook my head. Boys.

“It’s not exactly my proudest moment, you know.” I muttered.

“Be that as it may, Pixie love,” Peter put the car in gear and looked into the rear view mirror at Tom, a note of warning in his voice. “I still owe you for that. I’ll happily repay the favour any time you say.”

“For fuck’s sake, Peter!” I reached up and smacked at the back of his head. He ducked, laughing.

“Oi! Driving here! Do something about that mate, will ya?” He glanced back at Tom with a grin.

“Right!” Tom grasped my wrists and yanked me against his chest, bending his head and muffling my protest with his mouth.

I collapsed against the warm lips and snuggled in, perfectly happy to spend the rest of the short drive letting Tom snog me. Pleasure that Tom felt comfortable enough to joke around and kiss me in front of my friend warmed me as we pulled up at the restaurant.

I told Peter that I’d call him when we were ready to leave, and let Tom take care of the fare. Peter would have driven me for free, but Tom is a paying customer! The main reason the council let the film people come was to put their money in our local economy. Peter cheerily thanked him and set off.

Tom pulled open the door of La Trattoria and held it for me as the most amazing scents billowed out at us. He ushered me through the door and blinked, inhaling the delectable aromas of garlic and tomato sauce and all sorts of delicious things. His eyes fluttered closed with a blissed out expression on his face.

Finally his eyes opened and he looked at me. “Oh my god, Pix. This is…”

“I know, right? I’ve been here a few times, but I’m not a regular. If I could afford it, I’d have them send dinner every night and be as round as a beachball! They make the most marvelous garlic bread ever, and their Osso Buco is to die for! Not to mention their cannoli!”

“God stop, Pix!” He leaned down with sparkling eyes and growled in my ear. “You’re going to unman me right here if you start describing their cannoli, I swear!” 

His whisper in my ear made me shiver, a large hand sliding down my back and unobtrusively squeezing my bum. I snorted. 

“Italian may be the Language of Love. But Italian food is the Language of Lust! And you are just going to have to control yourself until we’ve eaten!” I smirked at him. “It’s a dead cert that all those extra inches,” I gestured at his height, “need the calories to fuel what I’m hoping you’ll get up to later!”

Tom snickered, but put on a politely cheerful face when the owner came to seat us.

After all the obligatory ‘What’s good here?’ ‘It’s all good Tom, it’s fucking Italian!’ conversation as we looked over menus, the waiter, who was probably the owner’s son, took our orders, poured us each a glass of whatever house red he had in his hand, and left us. It’s not posh, but it’s damn good.

Looking at me curiously over the rim of his wine glass, Tom sipped his chianti, settling back in his chair and relaxing after the flurry of menus and ordering.

“Sooo Pix, your turn to answer some questions, I think. Do you have family, siblings? Oh wait! You said your sister gave you the Leia poster. Do you have any other siblings?

I grinned. “A few.” The Valkyries and me.

A smile teased around his lips.

“Oh yes? And how many is ’a few’, precisely?” he challenged, that eyebrow going up.

“More than two, less than ten?” I answered with my best evil grin.

Tom leaned forward, his wine glass dangling from his fingers and planted an elbow on the table, narrowing his eyes at me.

“I did say ‘precisely’ did I not? Wait-“ he glanced around furtively and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Is it a state secret? Are you undercover? Maybe senior home care business owner and sometime potions mistress is just your MI5 cover, right?

I rolled my eyes. “See? You’ve sussed me out, and now I’ll have to kill you!” I shook my head mournfully. “And I haven’t even eaten my good Italian dinner yet! You’re a terrible date!”

Tom’s eyes laughed at me.

“You could wait until after dinner to kill me, you know. I promise not to tell...” That purring, suave note was back in his voice.

“Well… Alright. I suppose your gruesome death can wait until after we eat.” I said mock reluctantly. I took a casual sip of my wine and looked back up with a smirk.

“Six.”

“Six?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. Six. That’s how many siblings I have.”

Tom inhaled sharply and choked on his wine. He might have been this close to an actual spit take as I pounded on his back.

When his coughing and wheezing had subsided, and he’d wiped his eyes, he looked at my grin suspiciously.

“I thought we had an agreement that you’d wait until after dinner to kill me?!”

I snickered. “Keep on like this and I won’t have to exert myself at all! Yes Tom, I have six siblings. The five Valkyries, and my baby brother.”

“Valkyries is it? Tell me,” Tom said with a grin just as the waiter brought and set out our food. 

The scent of my lasagna curled up from my dish, igniting all my salivary glands. I was desperate to dive right in, but I knew from previous experience that searing hot cheese and tomato sauce would burn away my enjoyment along with the roof of my mouth. I took a bite of the garlic bread instead and closed my eyes in bliss as I chewed and swallowed.

“I have five sisters, all older than me, and my baby brother, Robbie.”

“Wow. When I was a kid I thought two sisters was too many!’ His glance was admiring. 

“The Valkyries and me…” I mused, “All five of my sisters are gorgeous, tall, icy-blonde Vikings like their mother. Dad married my Mum a couple of years after his first wife Ilsa died, and they had me, small and dark like my mum. Eight years later, Robbie came along like a surprise Christmas package. So mostly, Robbie is my baby brother. He's built like a Viking as well, though with Mum’s colouring.”

“Robbie imprinted on me like a baby duck.” I mused. “Or maybe it was the reverse. Emma, the youngest of our sisters was four years older than me, but that meant she was 12 years older than our Robbie. All our sisters doted on Robbie, but they were becoming teenagers and independent adults, when Robbie and I were still little kids. So it was mostly just the two of us, when the hormonal teenagers were rampaging.

“Mum was great. But she was not just our mum, she was also mother to a bevy of terrifying teenagers learning how to adult. Seven children, ages infant to twenty years old, and she was barely thirty! Mum was...” I shook my head admiringly, “Mum was a force of maternal nature, managing all that, I can tell you!

“I inevitably grew up feeling a bit like a changeling, small, dark me, amongst a gaggle of tall, leggy, blondes with clear blue eyes. They all looked like carbon copies of each other, each one successively two years older; Emma, Britta, Linnie, Hanna, and Alys.”

Tom’s eyes were wide, listening with rapt attention. I almost wanted to laugh at his expression.

“Then there was me, if not the ugly duckling, then at least the dark changeling… Not that they ever treated me any differently. But damn, people so often seemed to think that it made them clever to point out how different I was to my sisters. Or to make sly jokes about the milkman’s child!

“Growing up, my sisters never failed to defend me fiercely. Emma, in particular, had a way of pulling herself up to her full height and glowering down her nose at the unfortunate wag. Her offended look invariably made them shrink into themselves and excuse themselves hastily... She once asked one particularly obnoxious twat if he judged all his relatives by their looks, and told him to his face that at least her sister was pretty and kind!”

Tom chuckled, applauding.

“Looking the odd one out did have an effect on me though, no matter how well loved. Mum says I developed a stubborn independent streak as a result, and ‘Do it myself!’ became my mantra from the moment I could talk.”

“I can well believe that!” Tom laughed. “You keep describing them as ‘tall’. How tall? I mean-“

“They’re all just like their mum, slim, blonde, and over six feet.” I eyed him thoughtfully. “You’d be right in!” I smiled in remembrance. “As a kid, it was like wandering about in a blonde forest. I was right annoyed when Robbie grew taller than me by the time he was eight!”

“What do they all do?”

“Let’s see. Emma is a dancer, she has an incredible grace of spirit. Britta plays cello for the Phil on tour. Linnie is a sculptor and a silver smith,” I toyed absently with the twisted silver ear wire that she’d made for me. “Hanna is something to do with banking, and is married to Brad, and Alys is a barrister and married to Joanna. Robbie is in his second gap year, and god knows what he’ll finally settle on. But he makes a terrific locum when I need help or a break from the Old Girls. They all dote on him and feed him biscuits.”

“Linnie is the one who made your bracelets?”

“Of course.” I held up my wrist, the silver flashing in the candle light in the centre of our table. “Our Linnie is a poet. She hears hearts and curiosities.”

“I think she might not be the only one who hears hearts.” Tom murmured. I wrinkled my nose at him and carried on.

“And you? Don’t think you’re getting away with not talking in return! Fair is fair! Tell me about your family.” I reached over and tapped the back of his hand as it lay on the checked tablecloth, admonishing him.

Tom’s hand flipped and captured mine before I could withdraw it, holding it firmly.

“My parents divorced when I was a kid. I’m the middle child. My older sister, Sarah, is married. I have a five year old niece, Anata, who is the light of my life. And my younger sister is called Emma, as well. She’s a nurse and engaged to be married. And that’s it, really.”

Hmm. If there were any chance that we might see each other beyond this week, I might have demanded more details. As it was, there seemed no point in getting that…intimate with each other’s lives.

Much as I like him, our lives and ambitions are simply so different. On the other hand, I feel so grounded with him. I simply don’t understand how a man with such a chaotic life can make me feel wrapped in peaceful warm velvet. 

I swallowed a sip of regret. Life is what it is, and there’s no point pining for what I can’t have. His lifestyle is horrifying, not that I’d ever say that to him. But I can’t imaging signing on for constant travel, and filming away for months at a time, and publicity tours, and fame whores, and tabloids, and fans …

The whole thing made me shiver. That would not be a life that I would seek out!

We finished and he paid up while I texted Peter, deciding to take away our cannolis to eat at mine.

Tom pushed the door open and held it for me to step outside, following me with a hand on the small of my back. I breathed in the cool night air. All the skin under and around his hand warmed as if a sunbeam shone down on me.

Peter and his taxi weren’t here yet. That’s fine. It was a cool, misty evening and I took a deep breath of the clean air. I adore the garlic scented atmosphere inside La Trattoria, but the cool air washing over us was refreshing and invigorating. 

I felt Tom’s body stiffen behind me and turned to ask what was wrong. He leaned down and murmured instruction sharply into my ear.

“Give me your mobile now. I’ll take a selfie of us. Smile.”

I blinked up at him. Smile? Okay. My lips stretched, but my eyes queried him. What’s going on?

Tom moved to my side, one arm draping casually over my shoulders, and lifted my mobile.

“Smile, now.” He instructed, so I did, wondering when he had become so bossy.

He took several shots, his arm stretched out long in front of us. He turned and looked down, his eyes narrowed warningly.

“Paparazzi across the street, darling,” he murmured. “Please would you nip around the building and go in the back door of the restaurant? Wait for me, I’ll be back for you as soon as I shake this bugger, right?”

I laughed and said “Thank you! Have a nice night!” just loudly enough that I thought I might be overheard, but still quietly enough to seem to be part of a private conversation. I turned and strode to the end of the block and turned the corner. I could hear Tom’s footsteps on the pavement fading as he moved in the opposite direction.

I circled the block and went in through the back of the restaurant, emerging blinking into the bright interior light.

I found myself looking around at a busy kitchen, cooks shouting back and forth at each other, plates clattering, knives flashing.

The woman at the station nearest the door appeared to be in charge of chopping veg, she glanced up and nodded at me, going about her business. It seemed that it was alright for a strange woman to take temporary refuge here.

I stood near the door, out of the way, fascinated by the bustle and clatter of the kitchen. About five minutes later the door behind me opened. I glanced round at Tom.

“All clear, Pix. Thanks for playing along.”

“No problem.” My shoulders slumped in relief. The last thing I need is to be outed on a celebrity’s arm to the public, my family, friends and neighbors, not to mention complete strangers, by some arsehole Pap! 

Tom’s off to Spain soon, and our little fling will be over. I don’t want the world to intrude or be pawing over us in our brief time. I couldn’t bear it. And given Tom’s depiction of his last relationship, I’m not the only one who feels that way. 

His arm went over my shoulders as the cook at the vegetable station caught my eye with raised eyebrows.

I smiled my thanks and winked at her. She flashed me a thumbs up in return, and I let Tom steer me out the door. Peter’s taxi was drawn up behind the restaurant..


	8. Follow Your Bliss, Be Excellent to Each Other

Peter brought us back to my cottage with minimum harassment. I guess he’d decided that Tom was alright. Peter has always thought that I needed a big brother to torment and look after me. It’s annoying as hell, and sweet as fuck.

We strolled up my front path hand in hand, pausing at the door for me to find my keys. I pawed through my bag, more and more frantically before I remembered.

“Bloody hell!” I laughed. “I completely forgot! I gave my keys to Peter so he could service my car!”

Tom chuckled as I made a little exasperated noise and stooped down to pick up the evil little pixie statuette near the door that bore a distinct resemblance to me. I handed it off to Tom and picked up my spare key from it’s hiding spot.

“Pix darling, that hardly seems safe.” Tom the city dweller remonstrated. I snorted.

“Well first, this isn’t London laddie, and second…” I picked up the envelope under the spot where the spare key had lain and handed it to him.

Twisting the key in the lock, I pushed the door open.

Tom absently stepped through, looking down at the foot tall garden pixie in one hand, and the envelope in the other. I pushed the door shut and twisted the deadbolt. The bolt that I only use when I’m home, and emphatically do not have a spare key to on my front porch.

I took the statuette out of his hands and tucked it under my arm as I kicked my shoes off. Tom looked at the envelope curiously. The outside of it had a message.

‘Inside you will find my Good Luck 100 Quid note and my blessing. Use it wisely and well.’

I chuckled at Tom’s expression when he looked up at me after reading it.

“Are you mad?? What the hell, Pix?”

I laughed. “Keep reading!”

I shrugged off my wrap and hung it.

Tom lifted the flap and pulled out a 100 quid note with a card clipped to it. I tugged his pea coat down his arms as he tried to read the card. He pulled off his grey boots with his other hand, balancing precariously. The first dropped with a thud to the floor, but the second boot was suspended in his hand as his eyebrows climbed his forehead.

I laughed at his appalled expression. The card clipped to the 100 quid said, 

‘If you’re in need today then please take this 100 quid with all my good will. I ask only that you leave my home in peace.  
Also, you should know that you passed three hidden cameras and there is one recording you right now. You have been given a gift. Take it and use it with grace.  
Or suffer the consequences. The Dark Pixie will reward you for doing the right thing, but she’s a bitch who will make you pay if you don’t. Think well before you choose the dark path.’

Tom’s mouth had fallen open as he read. He read it again and shook his head disbelievingly.

“You are mad, you know that, right?”

“Sure I am.” I smiled menacingly, full of sharp teeth. “Do you know how many 100 quid notes I’ve lost over the last 10 years? Two. Do you know how many times my house has been robbed? None.” I folded my arms and smiled smugly.

“But what about the cameras? Do you really have hidden cameras?”

For answer I handed him the heavy little resin pixie statuette.

Tom looked down at it in puzzlement, turning it over in his hands.

My sister Linnie had sculpted it for me. It was a dark pixie, much like Tinkerbell, but with dark spiky hair and eyes and a black fairy dress instead of green. The dark pixie was sitting on a moss covered stone perch and eating an enormous mosquito (enormous for the size a pixie is supposed to be) munching with very sharp teeth and evident smirking enjoyment. 

There’s a gossamer wing and a delicate mosquito leg protruding from her lips still. Her other hand holds another mosquito clutched tight in her first. The mosquito has pricked the skin on her wrist and there’s a trickle of scarlet blood dripping down her elbow. It’s a macabre and beautiful piece, and I love my sister every time I see it.

Tom laughed. I felt a shiver of pleasure at his amusement. 

“This is smashing, darling! It’s a warning all on it’s own! Don’t screw with the Pixie, she eats bad children!” Tom was honestly delighted.

“Our Linnie is pretty clever, “ I nodded. “But look here.”

I took the statuette away from him and pointed at the malevolent glass eye of the dead mosquito in the pixie’s hand. It glinted red.

“It’s a camera lens.”

Tom’s mouth fell open and he looked at me. “Now that’s dead clever. Whose idea was that?”

I grinned and blew on my fingernails.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “How many cameras do you actually have?”

“Does it matter? I saw you look up and glance around when you read that bit about the cameras. People will always look round. It never fails.”

“That’s…really rather creepy, you know.”

“Yep. That’s the bloody point! I’m only giving them an opportunity to do the right thing. And so far it’s worked every time. Look, if a bloke is so desperate for a few quid that they’d risk jail for housebreaking, then I’d say they really do need a helping hand, and I’d rather offer it freely than have it stolen! And if they’re just idiot kids doing it for kicks, then maybe being offered the chance to do good, and be rewarded for once, will make them think about being better.

“I’ve only offered them a blessing or a curse, and let them choose. If people can plainly see the downside of their bad behaviour, and plainly see the upside of their good behaviour, most people will choose the good.”

Tom blinked and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “But what about the ones who will kick in your door and rob you anyway?”

I sighed. “What about them? If that’s who they really are, then I was never going to be able to stop them anyway! What’s wrong with incentivizing a little good in the world?” I paused.

“Am I to refuse to offer a helping hand, or reward good behaviour because there might be one who would choose the bad? I’ve never understood the attitude that since I’m incapable of helping the entire world, I shouldn’t bother about just one person.

“That’s…pretty profound. And bloody naive, darling.” Despite his words, he had an oddly hopeful look on his face.

I shrugged. “Look Tom, I can laugh, or I can cry. So I might as well laugh. I can help or I can hurt, so I might as well help. I’d rather be naive than a cynic.”

Tom straightened abruptly, gesticulating excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly it! Pix, you’re brilliant!”

“Um, what?” I was confused by the giant grin on his face. One minute, he’s telling me I’m certifiable and naive, and the next he’s telling me I’m brilliant?

Tom took my hands in his and pulled me to my feet, sweeping me up into an enthusiastic kiss. Oh well, why not?

He sat on the sofa, with me in his lap, looking at me as if I were somehow miraculous. This confused me even more.

“Pix, you’re…you’re the real deal aren’t you?”

I looked down at myself and at him. 

“Um, yes?”

Tom chuckled, shaking his head at himself. “Sorry, darling. I mean, I hadn’t really taken you seriously until now. I’m sorry. I thought you were this… I don’t mean to be insulting, but I know it rather is… I thought you were just another slightly kooky, potion making…”

My smile grew. “Go on, might as well get it all out.” I encouraged. Tom’s face was burning. He shook his head and muttered shamefaced.

“…sweet, nutjob, dancing alone in the dark and playing tag in the moonlight.” He buried his face in my neck. “Please forgive me?”

I laughed. “Of course. If you’ll forgive me thinking at first that you were just another pretty playboy film star with an overactive ego and a libido to match, along with a sob story for getting into a girl’s knickers!”

Tom grimaced. I put my hand on his cheek and turned his face to mine. “It’s ok, Tom. I’m chuffed you stuck around long enough to find out differently, and show me differently.”

“I can’t express how happy I am to find that you really are a genuine, caring soul. Thank you darling. You restore my faith in humanity. And in optimistic idiots. There might be hope for me yet.’

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” I nodded and kissed his cheek. “You’ll be a real boy yet, you’ll see.”

Tom snapped his teeth at me, lifting an eyebrow. “ ‘Real boy’, is it? I guess that makes you Jiminy Cricket, then?”

I snickered. “I’m pretty sure you have a conscience, Tom. You’ll be alright if you use it.”

Tom hugged me, his enthusiasm prompting mine. I squeezed back, grinning up at him.

Tom’s grin faded and his eyes darkened. “You’re not a pixie at all, are you? You’re an imp.”


	9. Be Fragile Like a Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, darlings!

Tom’s grin faded and his eyes darkened. “You’re not a pixie at all, are you? You’re an imp.” I smirked at him.

He glanced around, his eyes flicking from place to place in my lounge.

“Come with me.” His voice was husky as he took my hand and lead me behind the sofa.

Putting his hands on my waist he lifted me up to sit on the sofa back. I squirmed a little trying to find a comfortable spot on the carved wood trim that framed the arched back. But I was lifted high enough to reach Tom’s kisses easily, so I decided to ignore the wood digging into my backside.

Spreading his legs wide to reduce his height by a few centimetres, he took my chin in hand and bent to take my mouth. Brushing his lips over mine in a teasing kiss, he softly persuaded my mouth to open.

Chills shivered across my skin and I wobbled on the sofa back at his tender, teasing kiss. I never wanted him to stop. Tom’s hand left my chin and his arm went around my back, holding me securely and nudging his body between my knees.

Tom lifted his head. “Is this alright?” His finger traced my left eyebrow and trailed down my cheek to my lips.

I smiled and reached my hand up, pulling his head down.  
“Assuming you don’t plan on stopping, yes.” I murmured quietly, my lips just two inches from his cheek. I could feel my breath gusting against his skin with my words.

Tom shivered and looked at me, his eyes darkened to a steel blue in the indoor light.

“More,” I demanded, lifting my lips to his and stealing my own taunting kiss.

Tom’s arms tightened around me and his lips firmed on mine. My head was spinning off into orbit with his kisses. I squirmed.

It was no good. I adored his kisses, but the curlicues and wavelets carved into the wooden top of the settee were digging into my backside and totally distracting me.

Tom seemed set to kiss me until the angels sang, which they would, if this bloody sharp carved rose weren’t bruising my arse.

The next time Tom let me up for air I ducked under his arm, lifted my legs over the sofa back, and slid down to sit on the cushion, tipping my head back to look up at Tom with a wicked grin. I held my hand up in invitation.

“Join me?”

Tom’s eyes laughed and he reached for my hand, literally swinging a leg up and stepping over the back of the sofa onto the cushion, and then the floor. He looked me straight in the eyes, a devilish challenging grin on his face. Kneeling on the floor he was exactly the same height as I was, sitting on my sofa.

Large hands cupped my cheeks and his lips took up where they had left off, tasting and nibbling and dancing over mine.

His mouth trailed down my jaw, under my ear and chills zinged through my body again.

My hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt as one hand moved down to trace the stretchy elastic neckline of my peasant blouse. Fingertips ran from the neckline to one shoulder and gently slid the fabric over my shoulder, moving to push it down my other shoulder.

Tom leaned back and smiled as he eased the neckline below my tits. Not that I had enough tits to tuck the elastic under, really. However, my nipples were hard and standing tall. And with my nipple rings in, the blouse caught on my nipples.

I heard Tom swallow as he looked. A very visual creature, our Tom.

He watched his hands come up and cup my tits, looking laughably small in his enormous hands. But Tom was not laughing. I think he was growling.

I shivered as his thumbs swept over my hard nipples, calluses rough on my sensitive skin.

Oh goddess. I arched my back, helplessly pressing the ache he created into his hands for more.

His head moved down, a hot tongue tip swept over my nipple before enveloping it in his wet heat and sucking strongly.

I nearly levitated at the lightning that arrowed through my body when his tongue started playing with my nipple ring. My empty pussy convulsed around nothing.

I let go of his shirt and moved my hands into his hair, clutching handfuls to keep him right there, doing just that.

He treated my other nipple to the same. I would have been rubbing my thighs together if Tom hadn’t wedged himself between my knees.

Even so, I found myself rocking in time with the need pulsing through me. Tom sat back on his heels and I wanted to cry. 

Until he leaned forward and kissed the inside of my knee.

He lifted the hem of my full, ruffled can-can skirt with a wicked grin and ducked under it.

I laughed until his lips found the inside of my thigh and his hand slipped up my other thigh to trace up and down the damp center of my knickers.

Then his fingers were curling around my knickers, pulling them down my legs and dropping them on my feet.

He pushed my knees open, sparing a second to brush my skirt out of his way, and licked a long slow lick from entrance to clit.

My breath caught, and hips pushed up at the first hot touch of his tongue. I could hear (and feel!) his little chuckle.

He teased me and teased me with his tongue as a fire ignited inside me, searching out that sensitive spot inside.

I was panting, my hands buried in his hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on for dear life.

I felt him shift on his knees as he circled his tongue around and around my clit.

His low hum of appreciation was a caress low in my belly. Then he shifted again.

I pushed his head back, panting. Looking down into his enquiring face, I said,

“All I can think about is your poor knees on that thin rug over the stone floor! Please, either come up here with me or take me to bed?”

“Alright,” he said agreeably.

Tom grasped my ankles, spun them up onto the sofa and slid my back up the cushions until the top of my head nearly touched the arm.

I watched in bemusement and not a little lust as he situated me the way he wanted me, his hands gentle but insistent.

Crawling onto the sofa at my feet, he began leisurely kissing his way up my legs, his big hands sliding up my thighs ahead of his mouth.

When he reached my skirt, he gave an experimental tug at the waistband. When the elastic gave and stretched, his grip tightened. His eyes never leaving me, he yanked my skirt off my hips and down my legs to fling over his shoulder with a growl.

I glanced down at myself to see what he found so interesting. I was on my back, my peasant blouse pulled down below my nipples, framing them, with lamplight glinting gold sparks off my nipple rings, and entirely naked below the waist.

Tom was still fully dressed as he sat up and reached to pull my blouse off.

After staring at each other for a very long minute, Tom returned to his journey of kisses up my body.

When he finally reached the place I most wanted him I was half afraid that he would avoid kissing me there just to torment me. But he came through. Eventually. 

Fingers spread me open and he sat on his heels, a soft look on his face as he gazed at my pink hidden bits. I could feel a flush sweep over me, and everything swelling and pulsing with heat and need.

Kissing me over and over, tonguing my folds, he alternated with firm licks and delicate tongue tip exploring until I wasn’t certain whether I would float away or explode, I could hear my own voice pleading and cursing as he teased me to the peak and slowed, letting me fall away only to bring me back to the pinnacle.

My body strained upward in an ecstatic arch, soaring on the brink of my orgasm. One of Tom's hands lifted my bottom as his lips wrapped around my clit and sucked strongly. Blinding waves of pleasure rippled from deep inside me and burst out in a cry when he slid two fingers into me and prodded hard into my G spot..

My heels scrabbled at the sofa, desperate for purchase, as my vision whited out, my back bowed, and breath choked off. Tom broke me again, scraping his teeth across the tip of my clit. My body strained upward, riding the crashing waves of the orgasm Tom hurled me into.

He didn't stop, pushing me again over that crest, until I simply (couldn't) anymore, falling limply out of my arch, my hands tugging feebly at his hair to lift him away from my incredibly over sensitized pussy. With a last broad lick of his tongue over me, he drew his fingers slowly from my body, setting off a last, weak paroxysm.

“Fuuuck.” I moaned a laugh, barely prying my heavy lids apart to see Tom moving up and propping himself on straight arms, leaning over me, ostentatiously licking his lips with a Cheshire Cat grin.

A giggle rippled out of me, he looked so pleased with himself.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” I laughed, as he wiped his wet face on my neck and shoulder, snickering. He leaned up and grinned into my eyes.

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days? Canary?”

“Shut up,” I groaned, “and tell me if my brains are leaking out of my ears. Fucking hell, Tom!”

Tom chuckled, one hand moving down my body and between my legs in a tantalizing caress. 

“Oh, you're leaking all right. But I'm fairly certain that it isn't your brains,” he smirked.

I didn't even have the energy to vent the laugh that tickled in my throat. I could hear the crinkling of a condom wrapper.

Then Tom's hand moved away and the head of his cock prodded my entrance, sliding in my juices and pushing into me.

I pried my eyes open to watch Tom's intent face staring down at me, jaw clenched tight and eyes hooded.

“God Pix, you feel so soft and silky and hot,” he muttered as he moved within me.

“Mmm.” I agreed. I lay utterly limp, watching him as he stroked slowly in and out of me. A small smile curled my lips..

“You feel good, too,” I murmured. He pushed another long stroke into me, grinding his hips into mine.

“I do. I feel very good.” His voice came out in a low growl that pulled a small exhausted whimper from me, too utterly spent even to push back.

Tom's eyes sparked, and he rocked his hips into me, his pace steadily increasing.  
He lifted my hips and his cock slid over my G spot with every short, sharp thrust, all my nerves reawakening.

“Fuck, Tom!” I rasped, unable to believe that he was making my body climb that wave again.

“That's right, Pix,” he growled, “You can have another, take it.”

My body shuddered with every shove of his hips, small breasts wobbling as he pushed into my body, golden rings glinting in the low light.

Tom lifted a hand and his fingers closed delicately around one of the rings, tugging. I arched and came with a cry.

Tom swore and I could see every muscle in his body go taut as he came with a hoarse shout, his head thrown right back. My heart thundered as I drew in panting breaths.

He lifted my legs down from where they had wrapped around his hips, and they fell limp, one dangling down towards the floor.

Tom slipped a careful hand between us and held the condom steady as he withdrew, hissing. I must admit, I hissed too. He collapsed at my side, arm thrown over my middle, face in my neck.

“Fucking hell, Pix,” he mumbled, sounding as worn out as I.

We lay there for long minutes, each of us trying to reassemble scattered wits. I tried to swallow and my throat clicked dryly, my hand wavered up and patted his shoulder.

“Water…” I croaked.

Tom huffed a laugh. “Yeah,” he croaked back, lifting his head and looking at the water bottle a metre away on my coffee table. After a pause to gather himself, he groaned and lifted a long arm, twisting his body to reach for and fumble the water bottle into his hand, nearly falling off the sofa in the process. I giggled tiredly as he floundered back to me, clutching his prize 

He reached down with his other hand and slid me gracelessly up into the circle of his arm, twisting the top off and handing me the water bottle. I nearly bobbled it to my mouth, but Tom's hand leapt to steady mine, guiding the bottle to my lips.

The cool water that flowed into my parched mouth and throat felt like bliss, and I took several greedy gulps before pushing the bottle back at Tom.

“Thanks,” I gasped gratefully, and watched as he tilted the bottle to his mouth and swallowed, his Adam's apple sliding down his long neck with each gulp. He finished most of the water, offering me the last swallow, and letting the empty bottle fall carelessly from limp fingers to the carpet. He wrapped me in long arms, lying back and pulling me atop him, heat radiating from his body. I laid my head down on his chest and yawned lazily, listening to his heartbeat steady.

“Just...need to close my eyes...for a moment.”

My internal alarm clock went off, and I opened my eyes to the usual early dawn dimness. It took me a blink or two, to realize that nothing about this morning was as usual, however.

I had a vague memory of Tom kissing me awake and carrying me to bed in the dark, telling me he had an early call, and he had to go. I remember a last kiss, and managing a drowsy, mumbled ‘Have a good day...’, before dropping off again.

I must have fallen asleep straight away last night. For that matter, he must have as well. My mouth tasted like...ick. And I needed to pee. Really badly. And dear gods, I am sticky...

I groaned as I pushed myself up, feeling all the well used muscles in my thighs from last nigh, and perhaps a bruise or two on my arse from the top of the settee. I staggered in and made use of the loo, and then turned the shower on as I scrubbed my teeth. 

I stood under the hot water for several welcome minutes before washing, thinking about my little fling, quite pleased with myself for taking the opportunity that chance offered up. All’s well that ends well, and oh yes, that ended very well indeed. Mmmm.

A good time was had by all, and that's a far better thing than I had been able to say after my last encounter with a male of the species. My last several experiences. In short, I felt content, and I was happy. I hummed as I soaped up.

Except for Jamie. It was all good until I found myself lying to Jamie. I hated lying to my Jams. Well, not precisely lying. Just not disabusing him of the notion that my only contact with Tom had been that night in his pub.

That was the first uneasy thought I’d had about the consequences of what I was doing with Tom. I shrugged it off. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to share. Right? My hands slowed, and I scowled.

I was having my little fling, and there was nothing wrong or inappropriate with being discreet about it, both for his sake and mine.

I might be in the habit of sharing deets with my best mate, but in this case it’s an easy habit to break. Oh, Jamie wouldn’t shop us to the tabloids, but…

I wanted to hoard this little thing with Tom to myself for a bit. For this little space of time, he’s mine to savour. Jamie would want me to share, and I’m just not ready yet.

Besides, I haven’t really lied to Jamie. Just made excuses for why I haven’t turned up at the pub for the last few nights.

That week with Tom had flown by, faster than I would have believed possible, filled with all the Old girls’ ordinary work, doing laundry and driving to doctors appointments and the hairdressers and grocery shopping. They kept me hopping, my three, and twitted me about ‘my’ young man.

They can be unexpectedly candid and slightly raunchy, the old ducks. Like being surrounded by a group of fluttering aunties who watch porn... and asking me questions about it! I don't think any of them actually watch internet porn, but they’ve displayed the most appalling knowledge base, and were quite free with their advice for keeping a man's attention!

And my evenings were filled with Tom. Bright, sparkling conversation, family reminiscences, an adventure or two, a meal in the next town, or walking and talking, dancing. It was lovely, and all the more precious for being fleeting.


	10. Just Breathe

I toyed with Tom's curls as we lay recovering, his head resting on my shoulder and an arm and leg slung over my body. I stared up at the ceiling, acknowledging that I would miss this, miss Tom, when he buggered off to Spain tomorrow.

Part of me will be relieved to get back to my routine, but the last week of the Film Circus being in town will be a good memory. I wouldn't change a thing, even if I do need to catch up on all the sleep I let Tom rob me of. I don't know where he gets his energy, up before the larks every morning, working all day, and wearing me out all night.

Tom's warm hand was idly tracing circles on my breast, playing with the ring in my nipple. I shivered.

“Pix...” he started hesitantly, “I wish –“

He was interrupted by his mobile ringing away in his trouser pocket somewhere on the floor. I startled and laughed. Tom grimaced, looking wildly around.

“Bugger! Darling, that's my sister’s ring tone, do you mind?”

“Be my guest.” I waved a hand airily.

Tom leapt out of bed, anxiously searching for his trousers before I'd even finished, pouncing on them, pulling his mobile out and switching on.

“Alright, Emma?”

I watched Tom's face fall into a worried scowl as he listened intently, standing straight and tall, completely starkers in the center of my bedroom. God he was lovely in the low lamplight, I mused. Shadows and light played across his skin, tracing long muscles in his thighs, sparking glints off the odd leftover drops of sweat at his hairline from our recent exertions—

“Shit! Is she alright?? What happened?”

He hunched, wrapping an arm around his middle as if he had taken a blow, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. My own body stiffened in alarm and I sat up alertly. That didn’t sound so good...

“Right. Right. Okay. She'll be alright?”

Concerned relief etched his face and my own body began to unwind it’s tension. I knelt up next to him and put my hand comfortingly on his shoulder. His hand covered mine with a squeeze and a grateful look, before turning his attention back to his sister’s narration.

“Right.” He checked the time on his mobile. “It's a bit of a drive, but I’ll be there by-” He broke off as she obviously interrupted, looking stricken.

“No, of course I'll come! Don't be ridiculous! ...Well, Mum really isn't in a position to make that decision for me, is she??”

Tom clutched his hair with his free hand, his eyes narrowing and nearly spitting out his words, clearly enraged.

“Emma, I'm an adult and fully capable of deciding for myself whether something is important enough for me to skive off work! I'll call in and let them know the situation in the morning... And Emma,” his voice softened. “Thanks for calling me. I need to know these sort of things, whatever Mum says about not disturbing my work! I appreciate you keeping me in the loop... You're alright, are you? Yeah. Yes. Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, only Stratford. Right. Cheers... Love you, too.” Tom rang off and blew out a noisy breath that ended on a growl of frustration.

I bit my lip as Tom stared at his phone a moment. I waited patiently for him to tell me...or not. Of course I was curious, but I wondered if I really wanted to know. Problems with his Mum probably fell outside the bounds of a fling, especially one that appeared to be ending right that minute.

Tom suddenly launched himself into action, rushing to gather his clothing from the floor as he spoke. His voice was gruff with anxiety.

“My Mum is in hospital. Emma says she's broken her arm, and the doctor wants to keep her overnight for observation.” He growled distractedly as he hopped about on one leg precariously, yanking his trousers on. “That damn cat!”

I watched his increasingly frantic search for his socks, muttering agitatedly about his mum.

“Tom..? Tom!” I tried to cut across his panic. “You can't just jump in your car and go crashing across the British roadways in this state!” Standing, I walked purposefully to him and put my arms around him. His went automatically around me.

“I know worrying about your mum is doing your head in, but you've got to get some chill, Tom! Calm the fuck down and take a breath, right?”

He looked miserable, fidgeting in the circle of my arms. “You don't understand...”

“Don’t be daft, of course I do! I have a mother too, you know! Look, you said she's in hospital overnight?” Tom nodded with a grimace.

“So she's safe and well looked after right now. You have plenty of time. You won't do her any good at all, rushing off in all directions and risking your neck!”

I took his hands and urged him to sit on the bed, standing between his knees.

“Now breathe... Just breathe...” I put my hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling it banging away under my palm. I shook my head reprovingly.

“Come on, Tom. Breathe with me... in through your nose.... and out through your mouth .... that's right, in... and out...” I held his eyes, willing him to relax. I could feel his panicked tension at last beginning to dissipate, and his heart rate slowing as he breathed with me. 

Cupping his forehead, I urged him to close his eyes while I ran my thumbs in a soothing rhythm across his brow. After a couple of minutes he opened his eyes, clear and calm once more. He heaved a breath.

“Thanks, Pix.”

“You're very welcome.” I said with a smile and a light kiss on his forehead. “Now go take a shower.” 

“Love, I really don't have time –“ I interrupted him, arching a brow.

“Tom honey, not to put too fine a point on it, but do you (really) want to be bursting into your mother's hospital room smelling like pussy?” 

Tom's eyes flew wide, and he choked, then he roared with laughter, grabbing me around my waist, twisting and pulling me down with him as he fell back on the bed. Grinning, I watched him laugh, shedding anxiety.

“When you're right, you're right, love! Come on.” Tom shoved me off onto the bed, stood and slung me over his shoulder, striding towards the shower.

“Hey!” I remonstrated. “I can walk!” My protest was toothless, really. I've always hated being slung around like a kiddie, but Tom's attitude was totally different than the other men I’ve known. He wasn’t belittling me. He always had an air of playfulness or tenderness that tugged at my heart. I was going to miss him, oh yeah.

“You, my dear, need a shower as much as I do!”

Tom juggled me on one arm while I squawked, reaching in and turning the shower on. Sitting me on the vanity, he muscled between my knees, cupping my chin and peppering my face with laughing little kisses that turned into a slow, drugging kiss.

Pulling away with a sigh, he tilted his forehead to mine, hands sliding from my shoulders, down my arms, to grip my hands.

“I'm sorry, Pix.” His frustration evident. “I didn't want our last night to end like this...”

I reached up and put my fingers over his lips, stopping his apology.

“It's okay, Tom. It is what it is. We both went into this with our eyes wide open. It's been lovely, truly. But you have a life to get on with, and so do I. It’s all good.”

Tom lifted my chin and kissed me again, his tongue dancing with mine. Not breaking the kiss, he slid his hands under my bum and lifted me, stepping into the shower before letting me slide to my feet under the warm spray.

We washed each other tenderly, sharing a grin as he bent and I washed his face for him, the warm water cascading over us, and plastering his curls to his head. When we were both clean, I made to push the shower door open, but he stopped me.

“Pix...” he pulled my hand down to his cock. God, the hot, hard silk of him. My thumb ran across his crown and delicately traced the edge of his foreskin. He groaned.

“You said that I needed to calm down...” he peppered kisses over me, “and relax before you would let me leave...” his lips trailed along my jaw. His hand squeezed mine over his cock. “Does this seem relaxed enough to you?” He hammed up a sultry look, lips parted and heavy lidded eyes as he pushed slowly into my fist, spoiling his performance by waggling his eyebrows lasciviously at me.

I burst into giggles. It's good to see Tom's habitual good cheer reappearing. Playing along, I pulled my hand away and folded my arms, cocking my head on the side and surveying him. Twice. There's a good deal to survey, you see.

“Hmmm. I'm not too sure about sending you out on the British roadways in a post-orgasmic haze, come to that...” I pondered thoughtfully, pursing my lips.

“Well. I don't imagine it would be any worse than sending me onto the roadways of Britain in a severe state of pre-orgasmic distraction, could it?” he pointed out, oh-so reasonably.

I reached up to yank his head down, but he moved quickly to grab my bum and pulled me up to his kiss.

I squeaked and threw my arms around his neck, and legs around his waist simultaneously. I promptly forgot any thoughts of objecting when his lips came down fiercely on mine.

The large hands on my arse kneaded my cheeks, and I could feel a rumble in his chest. He lifted me up higher, and his mouth closed around my left breast, sucking, tongue swirling around my nipple teasingly, and then dragging flat over it. My head fell back and I cried out when his teeth clicked repeatedly against the gold hoop, closing around it and tugging it firmly..

His hands moved under my thighs, fingertips gripping low and pulling my cheeks apart, opening me. I nearly went off right then, as he simply held me open and achingly empty. Christ! I squirmed in his grip, desperate. Tom leaned back from my breast and looked me in the eye, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes?” 

“Fucking hell, yes!” My voice was hoarse with need. Tom had often been gentle and almost languid in his lovemaking, which was a lovely thing indeed. This time he was rougher, more urgent. I liked that, too.

“Good,” he growled, “Hold on.” Tom stepped forward and the cool shower tile kissed the skin of my back, startling an automatic arch of my back away with a gasp at the chill, not incidentally pushing my chest forward. Tom's mouth lost all hint of delicacy as he sucked and bit at my breasts, his deep growl vibrating through his chest.

My fingers were winding and tugging in his hair, holding his mouth to my breast, my breath panting out harshly. Lightning zinged through my upper body, making me shudder and grind against him.

Lifting his head from my breast, he leaned his body into mine, pushing my back firmly against the cool shower tiles. A finger, then two, pushed into me and began to pump as I groaned and ground down on his hand, using the tile at my back as leverage.

“That's it,” Tom growled. “Bloody hell, you're hot and soft inside... you feel so good around my fingers... I have to be inside you.”

With one hand under me and the other sliding around my shoulders, he pulled me against his chest, turned and leaned his back against the wall. Tom moved both his hands to my bum and slowly lowered me, nudging his cock through my folds. I writhed, desperate for him to fill me.

Tom teased me unmercifully, sliding his cock against my clit, his bell nudging at my navel before dragging back roughly. One hand shifted and then those long, wet fingers were swirling around my clit.

“Tom...” I gritted against his mouth, “Fuck me now!”

His kiss turned ravaging, teeth pulling at my lower lip. He shifted me, his cock at my entrance and pulled me down on him, sheathing his hard length in me, filling me to bursting. I cried out at the brutal kiss of his cock against my cervix, my insides throbbing and clenching around him.

I reflexively recoiled, then frantically pushed back down, seeking that overwhelming sensation again.

“Oh yes,” his growl rumbled through me. “Again! Fuck me, Pix...” his hands yanked my hips down and lifted me higher, everything soaring...

My hands clenched in his curls, my face buried itself in his neck, his skin slick with heat and sweat. Two fingers closed around my clit, rubbing and squeezing.

“Come, Pix,” his growl reverberated in my body. “Come on me, I need you..!”

I was lost, clenching around him and soaring in his arms, dragging him with me.

Tom's hands turned to iron, jerking me down on his cock and grinding into me as he swelled and pulsed inside me.

I collapsed limply against him, gasping against his chest. Tom's arms wound around my back, turning his shoulder into the tile to keep his weight off me as he leaned heavily against it. Holding me close, we both panted as we slowly recovered. I turned my face into the center of his chest, aware of the curling hairs tickling my nose and lips.

“Holy hell...” I rasped.

A tired laugh rumbled through his chest against my lips. Straightening after a moment, Tom held me securely and stepped out of the shower onto the bathmat. Pulling a towel off the rack, he wrapped it over me before letting me slide down his body to my feet. With a quick grimace of discomfort, he pulled the condom off, dropping it into the bin. I blinked as I vaguely wondered where that had come from.

Snagging another towel to wrap around his hips, Tom lifted me and carried me through to the bedroom to stand on my bed. He rubbed me all over with my towel. I shrieked surprise and giggled when he gave me a shove, sending me sprawling backwards on the sheets. 

Tom stood staring down at me as I smiled languidly up at him. His gaze softened and he drew my blanket up to my chin, sitting at my hip and kissing me softly.

“Thank you, Pix.” He brushed my hair back off my forehead. “You’re...really lovely. I wish...”

This seemed like a good place to leave things. I lifted my hand, palming his cheek.

“Kiss me and drive carefully Tom.” And with one last tender kiss, he dressed and left.

***

*Arrived safe. British roadways still in good nick!* Tom

I sat at breakfast, finishing up my tea and porridge, perusing the day’s schedule and email, when Tom’s text popped up. I chuckled and returned a message.

*Well done, you! Hope all is well with your mum. Fortifying thought for the day: People in pain are often demanding and out of sorts. Remember: Deep breaths!* Pix

My text chime went as I was setting my mobile down.

*Well timed advice. Cheers!* Tom

I took my breakfast dishes to the sink for a quick rinse and went to dress for work.

First stop that morning was Jane’s for an early trip to her eye doctor. Her macular degeneration was deteriorating. She’d agreed that we should start interviewing for a 24/7 companion for her pretty soon.

After the eye doctor, we picked up Julia for a trip to the wool shop. Both Jane and she are avid knitters, as well as fast friends. I’ve noticed that Jane’s wool selections are chosen mostly by feel and texture. She likes to have Julia along to help with color selection since her eyes have begun to fail.

We picked up Maggie and went for lunch the little cafe on the outskirts of Stratford that they like so much. My Old Girls are well known there! 

And after that, Maggie had a hairdresser’s appointment and the other two wanted to do a bit of shopping. 

Loads of running about today. I sighed. Battling traffic is not my favorite thing, it’s so very difficult to get my zen on when there’s some obnoxious wanker with two fingers up passing my bus.

Just breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there will be a part 2!


End file.
